Quest for Royalty
by tetekanui
Summary: AU-While Luigi has been working as a lowly mechanic, Mario has acquired fame and glory as the personal bodyguard of the Princess. Now the Princess has been kidnapped, and Mario has to go back to his brother and ask for help.
1. Reunion

Chapter One: Reunion

Mario Mario looked silently up the path that led to the little house. He wasn't used to coming to others for help, and for once he had to muster the nerve to do what had to be done. Taking a deep breath, he started toward the door. When he walked, it was with his usual swagger that boasted confidence, but he felt more fear than he had in a long time. Though he wore a sword at his left hip, a gun at his other, and a variety of daggers were hidden on his person, he knew that this was one challenge with which weapons would offer no assistance. He held up a fist to knock, his heart pounding, but at the last second he turned away to leave. Three times he tried and failed to knock, but the memory of a promise he had made kept him from fleeing, and on the fourth attempt, his fist struck wood.

He stepped back with his hands behind his back and waited with the air of someone used to being obeyed. Sure enough, a light came on in the house and then the door swung open, revealing a man in pale green nightclothes and a conical nightcap with a pom-pom at the end.

Mario waited as the man rubbed sleep from his eyes and focused. Then the man's eyes grew wide.

"Mario?" The look of incredulity was quickly replaced with annoyance accompanied by a yawn. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Sorry for dropping in unannounced, but I've got a bit of a situation on my hands, Weegee."

Luigi stared at Mario, who stood awkwardly in the doorway. It wasn't every day that Mario apologized, or waited for an invitation to enter a house, or called Luigi by his childhood nickname. It wasn't every day that Mario looked so lost.

Luigi opened the door wider. "You know my door is always open, Mar. Come in."

Mario gratefully stepped inside, taking off his red fedora as he did so. It seemed impossible, but the house appeared even smaller on the inside than it had on the outside. The clutter was enormous; even Mario, who wasn't the neatest person, felt a little claustrophobic.

The light above was dull and flickering, and newspapers lay strewn across the floor. Mario noticed that some newspapers seemed worm, as if they had been reread many times, while others had clippings carefully cut out, and still others had been torn up. Besides that, there were stack of untouched newspapers lining the walls. The second most notable part of the mess was the beer cans. Big and small, every brand, every strength—beer cans lay in a layer like a carpet on the floor.

The sight of such disarray made Mario freeze in his tracks. He knew Luigi better than anyone, enough to know that the way he kept his house was a clear indicator of his mood. The mess spoke of desperation and hopeless dismay.

The two men stood in silence for a long while, neither wanting to meet the others' eye. It was Luigi who finally couldn't stand the suspense any longer and asked, "Why'd you come?"

Mario turned to face him, and Luigi stuttered, "Oh, I—I didn't mean it like that. You're welcome anytime; you know that. I just blurted it out. Because it's—it's not like you've come around much lately…and I understand, of course. I know you've been busy with everything…"

Mario waited patiently for Luigi to stop rambling, and when Luigi had fallen silent, he answered softly, "I know I haven't been around, and I am sorry for that."

"It's no problem!" Luigi protested at once.

Mario's reply was a slow pointed look around the chaotic mess, but he didn't verbally pursue the subject. "I need your help, Weege."

"Please sit" was Luigi's reply, in a quiet attempt at normalcy.

Mario didn't want to be rude and draw any attention to the sad state of the living room by asking where he was to sit. He waited to follow Luigi's example. After a second, Luigi crossed to a pile of junk and sat on it; after some close examination, Mario recognized it as an old sofa. Mario picked his way to a misshapen form that looked like a very large pile of trash that vaguely resembled an armchair facing Luigi.

"So you need _my_ help?" Luigi said, as if in serious doubt of his own hearing. "What for? What can _I_ possibly do for _you?_ If it's money you're after, then I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. I ain't the richest guy in the world, and I've got to look after myself."

Mario shook his head, both in negation of this assumption and in dumb amazement. "Have you been reading all those papers you've got lying around?"

Luigi stiffened, as if until that point he had assumed that Mario hadn't seen the gigantic clutter. His face turned bright red and he feebly tried to rearrange the things closest to him. The small effort to straighten up made no significant difference.

Keeping his eyes on the floor, Luigi said, "I haven't read the paper in months. It got too depressing. It's just sort of a habit to go out each morning and pick it up."

"Then you should cancel your subscription," Mario said. The words were a suggestion, but his tone made it sound like an order. "You've said you're hard up for money, so you shouldn't waste any of it."

Luigi's eyes slid up to meet Mario's. In a careful voice, Luigi said, "I wish you wouldn't advise me about managing money."

Luigi wasn't quite brave enough to voice the resentment and bitterness meant by those soft-spoken words, but Mario understood it well enough anyway. He frowned, looking away, trying to emotionally distance himself from Luigi.

"So I suppose you don't know," Mario said, "that the Princess has gone missing."

"Oh." There was a discouraging lack of surprise or concern in Luigi's voice. Mario waited for him to say something else. When the silence wore on, Luigi said uncomfortably, "Again?"

Mario flinched.

"Who kidnapped her this time? What was the ransom? Did you save her yet?" Luigi went on, his voice infused with the perfect, rehearsed inflection of polite curiosity that showed that he was honestly bored.

"I don't think you understand," said Mario, his jaw set. "I have no idea where she is. I'm asking you to help me find her and bring her back."

Luigi stared at Mario. Mario stared back as the minutes ticked past with excruciating slowness, feeling stupid for having come. He wished Luigi would do something other than stare.

Then, to Mario's surprise, Luigi did do something different—something even worse. He laughed.

It was a great big genuine belly laugh, not just a polite chuckle, and it went on until Mario's patience had just about reached the end of its fuse. Mario half expected tears to start rolling down Luigi's cheeks.

Stiffly, Mario stood. He felt cold inside and out. It wasn't as if he had really expected help from anybody, but Luigi knew how difficult it was for him to reach out and ask. He had bared himself, made himself vulnerable, only to be laughed at. He looked down on Luigi and said, "I'm glad one of us is amused. You should know that you were a last resort, but I'll manage just fine alone. I'm very sorry to have disturbed you."

He was prepared to exit with his dignity, but Luigi stopped him. "Wait." All mirth had gone from his voice. "You're serious."

"At least one of us is," Mario replied.

"God, Mar…I'm sorry." Luigi twisted the bottom of his shirt. "I thought Daisy put you up to this. Is Peach really missing?"

Mario replied with a curt nod, hope beginning to swell inside him once again. Then he asked, "Daisy?"

"Daisy Sarasa. You know, the province princess? You saved her once when the Scorchers captured her." Luigi bent down, grabbed a beer can, and took a huge swig.

Mario had a vague glimmer of recollection. "I see."

Luigi looked hard at Mario. "How exactly do you expect me to help you? You're the one who saves people left and right. You expect me to just drop my job and put my life on hold so that I can run up and down the country on a wild goose chase for the Princess?"

"No," said Mario.

"Good, because I—"

"Not just this country," said Mario.

"What?"

"It might not be just this country we'd have to search," Mario answered. He was so quiet that Luigi had to strain to hear his words. "In fact, I'm fairly certain she's been taken out of the country. We might have to search the whole world, tear _every_ country on every continent apart, but mark my words, Luigi, I will find her."

The silence after Mario's words was like the silence after thunderous applause or a charged, energetic symphony piece. The paradox of perfect silence in which one could still hear the ringing echoes of noise bouncing around inside one's head. It was like the calm after a storm. Luigi found himself shivering, and not because he hadn't had enough money to pay the heating bill.

Luigi had some trouble organizing his thoughts into a coherent enough response to that. Lucky for him, Mario saved him the trouble. "Look, it's late. I'll explain everything tomorrow, but for tonight can I stay here?"

"Sure. No problem." Luigi leapt up to show Mario to his room. "Just answer one question now." He waited until Mario nodded in acknowledgement, and then asked, "You must have tons of resources at your disposal. Why did you come to me?"

Mario stood. "Because I didn't know where else to go, Weegee. It seemed to make sense to come back home."

Luigi thought about this for a moment, and then his face lit up in a smile. "I'm glad you came."

Mario lifted a brow. "Are you?"

"I am!" Luigi nodded his head fervently. "Aren't you glad to be here?"

Mario was surprised to learn that he could come up with no honest answer to that. His tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth, physically preventing him from lying, but Luigi didn't wait for an answer. He plowed his way through the layer of garbage that was the living room floor, went down a surprisingly clean hallway, and led Mario to a very familiar room.

Mario opened the door, with an eager yet hesitant hand. Everything was as he remembered, except for a fine layer of dust coating everything. Evidently, Luigi hadn't touched anything since Mario had last been there. Mario's gaze swept over the sports trophies on top of the bookcase, the heavy metal band posters on the wall, the small bed with a red comforter, and finally came to rest on the framed pictures on the dresser. Wordlessly, he looked at Luigi for an explanation.

"I figured, it was still your room," Luigi answered the unspoken question. "I hope you don't mind it. It didn't feel right moving anything, and I always thought…" Here his voice lowered and he took a renewed interest in the floor. "I always thought that maybe you might want to come back."

Mario's jaw tightened, but other than that, his expression didn't change. "It's nice, Weege. I'll talk to you in the morning."

The dismissal was an order, and Luigi hurried to obey. He scuttled away, and Mario was left looking at the room he had inhabited as a child. Memories came flooding in, and with them the tiredness of age.

He had been so different back then. The three things that had mattered most were sports, dating, and his popularity. Now the stakes were so much higher. Now nothing was the same.

Mario climbed into his old bed, wincing as it creaked under his weight. He fell asleep with the paradoxical feeling of being sick with longing for Peach and equally sick with longing of the days before Peach, when things had been simple.


	2. Impossible

Chapter Two: Impossible

"So she disappeared without anyone seeing anything, without leaving a trace. There was no ransom note. We have absolutely no clues as to who took her and why," Luigi said slowly.

Mario didn't look up from his cereal bowl. "Correct."

They were sitting across from each other in the dining room. Mario was wearing an old outfit he had grabbed from his closet, surprised to see that it still fit him, if only barely. He had been a little cautious about wearing short sleeves, something he rarely did nowadays, but in the end had shrugged and thrown on the clean shirt. His black fedora was back on his head, and he noticed that Luigi had donned his matching green fedora that morning.

Luigi gaped at Mario, so shocked that he forgot to stop pouring orange juice into his glass. He couldn't even muster the appropriate annoyance or interest when he discovered he'd filled his cup to overflowing; he simply looked at the carton in dull astonishment, as if he'd forgotten he was holding it, and then set it down and groped for a napkin. Mario handed him one.

"Thanks," Luigi mumbled.

Mario didn't bother to pursue the trivial, safe conversation he knew Luigi was hoping to achieve. In a level tone, he said, "I'll understand if you don't want to come along. You shouldn't feel obligated. I'm not going to lie to you: it will be very dangerous."

Luigi said nothing for a moment. His fingers tapped the tabletop restlessly and he tried to look everywhere except at Mario, but somehow his eyes kept returning to the one presence he couldn't escape. Finally, he stopped resisting and fully looked at Mario for the first time, noticing the little white scar on his upper lip and the muscular arms riddled with similar blemishes.

Mario watched Luigi studying him, and the feeling of discomfort that short sleeves always gave him returned with full force, making his stomach churn. Nevertheless, his eyes remained cool and steady. He leaned forward, placing folded arms on the table, defiantly throwing his scars into deeper prominence. He was used to the staring, and he refused to let it bother him.

Silverware clattered to the floor as Luigi jumped, realizing too late how uncomfortable he must have made Mario with his gawking. Luigi's face was red as he stuttered an apology and dropped to all fours to retrieve the silverware that had fallen under the table. He bumped his head on the table before he was able to sit back on his chair, spoon and fork in hand.

Mario returned his attention to his cereal, repressing something halfway between a smile and a grimace, and having serious second thoughts about asking Luigi to come along on his search. Luigi picked at the cold leftover Chinese takeout that served as his breakfast, but then said, "So, since we don't know how long we'll be gone, we should take a lot of clothes and food and money—"

"We should take only the bare necessities," interrupted Mario, but he elaborated no further. Luigi opened his mouth to state that he thought clothes, food, and money _were_ the bare necessities, but he shut his mouth again because he sensed that Mario had something he wanted to say. After a tense silence, Mario said, "What made you decide to help me? I hardly think my appearance would encourage you to."

Luigi didn't miss a beat. "We're family. We're the only family each other's got. We've got to stick together."

Mario looked away from Luigi's big, earnest eyes. The words, rather than reassuring him, had only made him feel as if he'd made a huge mistake. The raw, grim reality of his life, a life that had become nothing but one big battle, was no place for Luigi's ideals.

Before becoming the Guardian, Mario remembered that he had thought of the title as an honor. He had assumed that because the Guardian had ties to the Princess that he was treated like royalty, that he lived in luxury. He had assumed that palace life was perfect. He knew that Luigi must still live under that illusion. Given the sorry state of the house, Mario knew that Luigi must harbor more than a little resentment at Mario's rise to Guardian status, an act that he'd perceive as abandonment. Yet Luigi still wanted to help him.

It wasn't as if Luigi lived in a place ideal for fostering an innocent mind, though. Even without newspapers, Luigi must have seen the streets on his way to the motor shop. Mario had noticed that the buildings were even more destitute than he remembered. Growing up, he had associated the color gray with home. The buildings were gray, the drugs and cigarettes were gray, even the air and the people seemed gray. Now everything seemed to blend together into one gray mass, and there were no distinctions between buildings and people. Everything and everyone had been beaten down. Signs of bankruptcy and violence and shady dealings permeated the very streets. This side of Arrow City had always been the bad part of town, but never before had it been this bad.

Even though the Marios had always been poor, Mario remembered a happy childhood. It had been rough, but fun in its own way, at least for the tough kids. Mario had been a tough kid. Luigi hadn't been, but Mario had always been there to protect him. Mario remembered that the slummy streets had been populated with people who were all like family, united in their status in life. There had been fights, stupid, good-natured fights in which no one emerged seriously hurt. No one had many material possessions, but they all had distinct personalities and spirits. The neighborhood had been a ragtag bunch, and most couldn't trust each other when it came to money or shady deals; everyone tried to get ahead and would take advantage of each other if necessary. But if it came to defending each other against outsiders, there wasn't a stauncher or more close-knit group.

Now that creed had been tossed to the wind. Infighting had become the norm. It had become a dog eats dog, every man for himself type of society. Luigi couldn't be ignorant to the hard times, and yet he spoke of family ties. He spoke as if he still saw the world through the eyes of a child.

Luigi stood, telling Mario that he was going to make arrangements—cancel his bills and his rent indefinitely—and pack. Mario said nothing. He tossed ideas around in his mind, wondering if he should simply leave while Luigi was occupied. He didn't know if Luigi would try to follow him or find the Princess on his own. He considered the possibility and discarded it. Luigi wasn't the type to engage in solo missions. Then Mario thought about leaving Luigi on his own, and the thought made him scowl. Whether or not, Luigi accompanied him, he'd be in danger, but if Luigi came, at least Mario would be there to protect him, the way he always had when they were children.

A nagging doubt crept into his mind. He had sworn to protect the Princess, and she had been snatched from right under his nose. Luigi had survived for years without so much as any contact from Mario. If Mario took Luigi with him on the quest, and was unable to protect him, and…something bad happened that would never have happened if Mario hadn't come back into Luigi's life…

Mario quelled the doubt. He would be strong enough to protect Luigi. He only made the same mistake once, and he vowed never to fail again.

Luigi returned, clutching a suitcase's handle with both hands. "Let's go."

It took several seconds, but Mario stood up. He couldn't help but be impressed with Luigi's quick packing. It took a very special brand of courage to rush into danger headlong against impossible odds.

"We'll have to stop at the shop first," Luigi chattered as they made their way to the door. "I have some customers that I'll have to redirect elsewhere, and I'll have to put up a notice for my regulars that I'm closed until further notice. You haven't seen the shop in a while, have you, Mario? It's a lot different. You'll see when we get there. Then I thought maybe for our next stop—"

He stopped in midsentence and midstep. Mario had stopped first, and Luigi, not noticing, had slammed into him. He had been about to voice some annoyance at Mario's sudden stop, but then he spotted the reason for it.

"Wh—who are they?" Luigi stammered, his voice much quieter. Mario could feel Luigi trembling against his back.

Once again the thought crossed Mario's mind that including Luigi in this quest had been a bad idea, a very, very bad idea.

The house was surrounded by men in uniform black cargo pants and thick vests. They wore helmets with visors that hid the top half of their faces. And they were all carrying long rifles aimed straight at Mario and Luigi.

One heavyset man stepped forward. He pressed a button on the side of his helmet, lifting the visor, revealing small, sparkling green eyes under dark, bushy eyebrows. Everything about him was thick: his nose, his mustache, his lips, his entire body. The physically imposing presence clucked his tongue. A smile broke out on his face.

"Well, well, well. Look what we've got here. Both the Mario brothers in one fell swoop. This must be my lucky day. You're slipping up, Mario."

Mario's fists clenched. He cursed himself for his stupidity. He'd been a fool not to expect Wario and his crew to discover where he'd gone. Wario had spies everywhere. He sized up the troops. There were three complete rings of soldiers surrounding the house. There was no possible escape. He could only hope that Wario was under orders to take him in alive.

"I can see how you'd become suicidal, with the Princess gone. But to take what's-his-face down with you, that's really low." Wario sneered, obviously enjoying Mario's being trapped.

"Louis," a helmeted man offered.

"What?" Wario snapped.

"The other Mario. His name's Louis, isn't it?"

"Nah, it's Larry," another soldier contradicted.

"Who cares?" Wario said. "In a few moments, he'll be dead and it won't matter whether his name was Louis, Larry, or Billy Bob John." He cocked his gun, aiming at Mario's head. "Ready, men? Shoot to kill."

The men in the front row all cocked their guns.

"Ready?" Wario called. "Aim."

Luigi's breath came in frightened, ragged gasps. Mario could tell that it was taking all of Luigi's willpower not to give in to his panic reflexes and run back into the house. The house wouldn't offer any protection; the men could easily break in and shoot him, but it still meant a lot that he would stay at Mario's side and face death as bravely as possible rather than prolong his life as much as possible by running.

Mario's mind was working furiously. He refused to be killed before his journey had even begun. He refused to let Luigi be killed. Simply because he refused, he expected that he would survive even this. Slowly, he put his hands in his pockets, ostensibly to show that he was not going to attempt to use the weapons on his hips.

"Goodbye, brother," Luigi whispered, his voice raspy as sandpaper, and Mario realized that his brother was close to tears. He wished he could reassure Luigi, but he had to keep up the charade that he was facing death just a little longer. He noted with grim amusement that the streets were deserted. Everyone had closed their doors and windows and turned a blind eye to the murder about to take place. No one came to help the Marios.

It was up to them to save themselves.

"Fire!" shouted Wario.


	3. Resolution

Chapter Three: Resolution

Mario dropped to the ground and pushed Luigi down with him. The bullets that had been aimed for their heads crashed into the door of the house. This bought them only the split-second that the soldiers needed to point their rifles downward, but Mario used that split-second to pull two spheres out of his pockets and hurl them straight at the soldiers' feet. As soon as the balls touched the ground, they emitted a thick curtain of gas that screened the brothers.

Luigi started to stand, but Mario pushed him down and began to crawl towards the temporarily blinded soldiers. Mario had known to hold his breath, but he hadn't been able to warn Luigi, so Luigi endured a cough and watery eyes, but at least he was alive. For now.

Above the confusion, Wario's voice rang loud and clear. "Keep shooting! You may not be able to see them, but there's no place for them to hide. You'll hit them if you keep shooting."

Shots started pounding the ground and Mario moved fast, pulling out both his gun and a dagger from a sheath on his leg. Slithering on his belly like a snake, he entered the smoke screen and found himself between a soldier's legs. The soldier only had time to look down in surprise before Mario pointed his gun straight up and pulled the trigger. He pushed the soldier behind him and continued forging a path through the rings of soldiers, stabbing and shooting the entire way. Luigi followed silently.

Finally, the brothers emerged from the other side of smoke screen. Mario ran to the car immediately. Luigi took a moment to look at the shooting and confusion they had left behind, but then hopped into the passenger seat of the car.

As the engine roared to life, Mario saw Wario leap out of the smokescreen. His wild eyes met Mario's. Mario backed out of the driveway and floored the gas. In the rearview mirror, he saw Wario yelling, his face and neck beet red, pointing at the car. Then they turned a corner and Wario was no longer visible. For a long time, all Mario concentrated on was getting far away from Wario and not going anywhere Wario might search. They'd have to trade in the car soon too, or at least change the license plates. He was so wrapped up in thoughts of escape that it wasn't until Luigi hiccupped that Mario turned to him and discovered the tears running down his face.

Mario raised a dark brow. "Are you _crying?_"

Now that Mario thought about it, the hiccup was the first sound Luigi had made since their escape. It wasn't like Luigi to be so quiet. On his lap, Luigi still held the suitcase, his hands grasping the handle so hard that the knuckles were white.

"That was Wario. Wario….We went to _school_ with Wario."

"Yes."

"And he just tried to k-kill us."

Mario glanced at Luigi. "Yes."

"He told those men to shoot at us when they couldn't see. They could have killed each other that way." Luigi stated these obvious facts without acceptance. He was like a child groping for understanding that would not come.

"They could have," Mario agreed without emotion. "That's the kind of leader Wario is. He'll sacrifice everyone but himself to get what he wants."

"You killed people, Mar."

Mario kept his eyes straight ahead. There was no accusation in Luigi's tone, but a sort of breaking, as if seeing Luigi had just seen his older brother clearly for the first time and felt disillusioned. Luigi didn't have any emotion in his words, but instead stated things with limp bewildered politeness, like he was talking to a stranger instead of his brother. Like he wasn't sure he wanted to get emotionally close to Mario anymore.

Mario had to swallow hard before he could answer, "Yes."

"You…Wario….When did everybody get so good at killing?" Luigi asked faintly. He wasn't crying anymore. His eyes were wide and clear, not accusatory, but not understanding either. Unable to reconcile this present state of affairs to the memories of the past and the vision he had of his brother. "Mar, I never knew you got good at killing."

Mario found that his grip on the steering wheel was tightening until his own knuckles were white. "Maybe you don't know me anymore, Luigi."

Luigi didn't answer. He took off his hat and spun it around. Then he set it down on his lap on top of the suitcase and traced the embroidery on the side: a big cursive "M&L" and below that, in bold, capital block letters, the word "Motors" all inside a circle. He looked at Mario's matching hat and then placed his hat back on his head.

Mario cleared his throat. "You know we can't go back to the shop, Weege, don't you?"

"I know."

The car rumbled along, passing buildings in a blur. Judging by the colorful, well-lit streets, they were well out of the bad part of Arrow City. Wario probably wouldn't think to look for them there, but the green, loud, clunky car was conspicuous among the smooth-running, well-kept automobiles of the upper class.

"We've got to switch in this car, Luigi," Mario said without thinking. Too late, he realized his mistake. He quickly glanced at Luigi, but Luigi was looking out the window. "Look, I know this car means a lot to you. But we've got to—"

"'S okay, Mar." Luigi slumped down in his seat. His voice was weary. "Do what you have to."

Mario turned his thoughts to the matter at hand. It had been a long time since he had visited this part of Arrow City. He thought there might be an automotive repair shop down Fifth. Maybe they could just fix the car up a bit, exchange the license and give it a new paint job, rather than give it away altogether. He couldn't be sure which direction to go to reach Fifth Avenue, though, and he didn't want to waste time. He spotted a drugstore down the street and pulled up.

"Stay here, Luigi. I'm going to get a map." Mario opened the car door and began to step out, but then looked back at his little brother. "You did pack weapons, didn't you?"

Luigi's eyebrows drew together. "You told me to bring only the bare necessities."

Mario sighed. "Well, that's kind of what I meant." Before Luigi could say anything, he unclipped his gun from his belt and placed it on top of Luigi's suitcase. "Here. Anyone give you trouble, you can defend yourself."

Luigi's hand drew back from the gun as if it was a poisonous snake. Wide, frightened eyes met Mario's. "I ain't so good at killing, Mar."

Irritation washed over Mario and he climbed back in the car and slammed the door shut, not heeding Luigi's jump. "Listen to me. You agreed to come with me. You said you understood the danger and that family has got to stick together. So if somebody pulls a gun on you, you had better shoot first. There ain't any excuse, Weege. You're no good to me dead." He didn't realize he was shouting or that his whole body was trembling until he finished. He leaned back and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but his muscles wouldn't relax and his eyes wouldn't stop blazing.

"Sorry, Mar," Luigi said in a squeak and he clumsily picked up the gun with both hands and held it gingerly. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and his hands shook violently, but at least he finally had a grip on the weapon.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Mario said, satisfied. He got out of the car and went inside the drugstore. Bells tinkled to announce his arrival. He ignored the aisles of junk food and went straight up to the counter, where the maps were. Beside the maps, tabloid headlines screamed about conspiracy theories regarding the Princess's kidnapping and speculation about Mario's relationship with the Princess. Mario ignored those headlines—he was used to them by now—and found a map of the city. After a moment's hesitation, he also picked up one of the country.

He looked up to see that the man behind the counter was reading a newspaper. He couldn't help but notice the front page headline: The History of the Princess. And below that, in slightly smaller print: All You Ever Wanted to Know.

It was probably garbage, just like the many magazines that frequently used the Princess's name to draw in readers. But, despite himself, Mario grabbed a copy of the newspaper from a stand near the maps. He cleared his throat loudly to get the clerk's attention.

The clerk lowered his newspaper and looked up at the customer. His eyes widened.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Mario himself."

Mario braced himself, wondering if the clerk was a supporter or an opponent.

"It's an honor, sir." The clerk held out a hand and Mario shook it, relieved. As the three items were rung up, Mario spent his time thinking about Peach. He had tried his best to keep her out of his mind thus far, because the worry for her had become crippling and he needed all of his senses and wits about him at all times. It turned out, though, that thinking about his brother was much more troubling, and the only thing that could distract him was the thought of the Princess.

He murmured his thanks when he received the maps and newspaper, and hurried out of the store and back into the car. Luigi was still holding the gun as if he was afraid it would eat him. His face was chalky. He didn't even appear to notice Mario's return.

Mario stared at his brother in exasperation. "You can put that down now."

Luigi swung towards Mario with the gun shaking wildly. His finger wasn't even on the trigger. Mario sighed and took the gun back from Luigi's sweaty hands, placing it in its holster on his belt where it belonged.

Without a word, Mario opened the Arrow City map and glanced over it. It only took a glance to confirm that he had been right; there was an automotive repair shop on Fifth Avenue. He pulled out from the drugstore parking lot and headed that way.

He heard a deep breath from the passenger seat, and then, "Mario, I—"

Pretending he didn't hear, Mario reached over and turned on the radio. A gospel station. In disgust, Mario changed the radio to a station that played screamo and heavy metal. When Luigi attempted to talk again, Mario's response was to turn up the music's volume. This time Luigi took the hint and fell silent.


	4. Darkness

Chapter Four: Darkness

Mario took his time cruising down the streets. He knew that after they dropped off the car, there would be no way to put off talking to Luigi, and he wasn't ready to do that yet. He didn't want to hear Luigi's voice; he didn't even look at his younger brother. He knew he had to blow off steam first, before he said or did something he'd regret.

Luigi was just so frustrating. Mario had forgotten how much trouble he could be. Couldn't even hold a gun without having a practical seizure. What had he gotten himself into? What had he been thinking, asking Luigi to join him on this little quest? But how could he leave Luigi alone now that he had led Wario straight to the house and now that he knew how little Luigi was able to defend himself?

The time came when Mario could no longer stall, though. He turned onto Fifth Avenue and pulled up to the automotive repair shop. The building was large, well-kept, with manicured bushes gracing the front lawn. Mario didn't trust it for a second. A garage was meant to be greasy and gritty, even here in the posh upper class. It wasn't supposed to look like an office. But despite his misgivings, he got out of the car, and after a moment, Luigi followed.

Mario found himself treading on pavement that was completely devoid of cracks. He looked up to see a rotating neon sign that loudly proclaimed this place to be "The Garage: Arrow City's Finest Diesel Service." Even Luigi couldn't suppress a snort.

They entered a highly air-conditioned room and approached the desk behind which a man was sitting. Mario felt better as soon as he saw the man; he wore an oil-stained shirt and overalls and smoked a fat cigar as he busily looked over papers. He was incongruous in this place in which even a suit and tie seemed underdressed.

The man looked up from his work and, seeing customers, pushed his papers aside, grunting, "What can I do you for?" Then he peered closer at the two men and he grinned widely. "You're the Marios, ain't you?" His cigar bobbed in his mouth as he stood and grasped Mario's hand in his meaty, sweaty ones. "The name's Ernie. I've always wanted to meet you, Mario. You're on another journey to find the Princess, no doubt."

"I am," Mario acknowledged. He withdrew his hand and stepped back. "We have an unusual request."

Ernie gave a low rumble of laughter and slapped him on the back. Mario's fingers tingled with an almost irresistible urge to grab the big wrist and flip Ernie over onto his backside. He liked Ernie well enough, but his fighter's instincts prickled at the least provocation.

"Of course you do," Ernie was saying with a guffaw. "You wouldn't be the Marios if you were coming by with a run-of-the-mill auto repair job." He placed his hands on his hips. "But aren't you two mechanics? You own a shop, don't you?"

Mario exchanged a glance with Luigi.

"It's not…safe for us to go there right now," Luigi explained after a moment.

"Got ya." Ernie's voice turned brusque and businesslike. "What do you need?"

That was the best thing about good, honest mechanics, thought Mario. They might seem like a rowdy, disorderly bunch, but they knew when to keep their mouth shut and when not to ask questions. No other trade had such efficient businessmen, though you wouldn't know it by the way they dressed.

He explained the need for a new paint job, a smoother, quieter engine, and new license plates, and to his surprise, Ernie took the job, saying that he'd exchange the plates on his own car with the Mario plates.

"But won't that put you in danger, switching plates with us?" Luigi asked, eyes wide.

Ernie smiled. "Hey," he said, "if it's for the Princess, no danger's too great." He chuckled a bit at Luigi's aggrieved expression. "Relax, kid, it's not like I'm going off to fight like you two. This is the least I can do."

Mario gave a small nod, his expression grave. "It's appreciated." And even though the sentence was short and he didn't look pained, as Luigi did, his voice nevertheless conveyed his sincerity.

The brothers left the shop with Ernie's promise that the car would be ready by noon the next day. The sun hung low in the sky and less people walked the streets. Mario kept a sharp eye peeled. Despite this being the good part of Arrow City, thugs and hooligans existed, and they came out at night. Luigi huddled close to Mario, jumping like a frightened rabbit at every sound.

They passed grocery stores and restaurants, and gradually found themselves in a part of town where the streets were darker and all the signs were flashy neon. Bars and clubs populated this part of Arrow City. A woman dressed in next to nothing stormed out of one of these establishments cursing up a storm, and Luigi's discomfort was almost palpable. Mario couldn't help himself; he was amused. This amusement heightened when the woman turned, spotted them, and smiled at Luigi.

Mario looked over his shoulder at his brother. "I think she wants to talk to you."

In confirmation, the woman beckoned Luigi over with a crook of her finger. She had sharp, glittering, painted fingernails. "Hey, blondie. Over here. Don't be shy." Her dark eyes were lined and bordered with long, fake lashes and her mouth was accentuated with bold red lipstick. Her gaudy costume consisted of a giant headdress and strips of blue cloth that covered her most private parts and not much else.

The darkness could not conceal Luigi's red face or the woman's white teeth, bared in a predatory smile.

When it was obvious that Luigi was paralyzed, the woman came to him and draped an arm around his shoulder. Her perfume was cloying.

"What do you say you and I get out of here and go someplace a little more…private," she purred, gently running a finger up Luigi's chest and grabbing his strong jawbone. "You needn't be scared, kid," she added with a laugh. "I'll show you a good time. I'll be gentle, I promise. Ask anyone, I don't play rough…much." She ran her hands through his hair.

"Uh, I—I d-don't think tha-that's such a good"—Luigi swallowed hard—"idea." He looked as if he enjoyed the attention, but was embarrassed that he enjoyed it, like he wanted nothing more than to sink down into the earth and disappear. He pulled away from the woman and his hands flew down to the hem of his shirt. He started pulling the thread, ripping the hem. "I'm sure you're a nice lady and all, but I—"

At this point, Mario took pity on his younger brother and stepped in to save him from further embarrassment. "He's not interested, ma'am," he said, gently but firmly pulling the woman from Luigi.

Undaunted, the woman turned her smile on Mario. "Are you?"

Mario smiled a little. "Maybe some other time."

She shrugged. "I'll hold you to that." She winked before striding away, whistling. Mario looked after her, unable to help his appreciation. He reminded himself that this was not a recreational trip. The danger was real, and he couldn't afford to wrap anyone else in it, nor could he waste any time. He looked back at her long, toned legs and swaying hips and sighed. Too bad, really.

Luigi tugged on Mario's sleeve, and Mario turned. "What is it?"

"Instead of just wandering around until the car is fixed, maybe we could go see the province royalty," Luigi suggested. He rubbed his wrist, glancing periodically at Mario and the ground, afraid to meet his eye. "If you want."

It seemed impossible, but Luigi sounded even more nervous and ill at ease when speaking up with a plan of action than he had when speaking to the scantily-clad woman. He was less jumpy than he had been earlier; the sounds of a brawl were clearly heard coming from one of the nearby buildings, and Luigi didn't so much as flinch. He didn't appear to have heard. His entire concentration was focused on Mario, with something that was almost fear.

Mario's expression didn't change. He crossed his arms and leaned against a wall, taking his time mulling over the idea. Thoughtfully, he said, "The idea is intriguing. But what do you hope to gain?"

Luigi beamed. It was obvious he hadn't expected his proposition to even be considered. He almost tripped over his words in his haste to get them all out, as if afraid that Mario would forbid him to speak at any given moment. "Well, you saved Princess Daisy before, so the province royalty is indebted to you. Maybe we could ask for some resources, some money, some men…" He trailed off, looking at Mario breathlessly.

Mario nodded. "I suppose you're right."

Luigi's smile widened. Without another word, they headed in the direction of the palace, right in the heart of Arrow City.

Mario was surprised that Luigi had suggested such a thing. It seemed out of his character to propose taking advantage of the province royalty…but then again, Mario supposed they did owe him. He tried to remember what Princess Daisy looked like and could not. It had been a long time since the accidental rescue of Daisy from the Koopas, Arrow City's infamous underground organization of gangsters.

Of course, he hadn't been looking for Daisy. The rescue had started with Peach. It seemed like everything always went back to Peach. Mario looked up at the first stars debuting in the sky and reflected. It hadn't really even started with Peach. It had started years ago, centuries ago, before he and Peach had even been born. He supposed it started with the Dragons.


	5. Masked

Chapter Five: Masked

Looming ahead like a golden sentinel protecting the city, the palace towered above all other buildings. The proud turrets were visible even from afar. Colorful flags of deep purple and dark gold fluttered from atop the turrets. The great castle's lighted windows were like eyes, adding to the grandeur and majesty and furthering the impression of the royalty always keeping a benevolent watchful eye over all of Arrow City's inhabitants.

Even though this wasn't the first time Luigi had visited the province palace, he sucked in his breath, awestruck at the raw power the building exuded just by existing. Mario didn't even notice that they were nearing the castle. He was still contemplating how things had gotten to where they were. At the back of his mind, he had always known that it was bigger than just him and Peach, but he had never taken the time to fully appreciate the magnitude of the legacy of which they were only a tiny part.

He knew that the stars above were big balls of fire millions of miles away, and just now the tiny pinpricks of light seemed like accusing eyes, the fiery eyes of all the Dragons who had been slain. Eyes, not guarding the world, but lying in wait. Waiting to regain their proper place in the world.

He tried to imagine the world as it once had been. There was a time when the night sky, now so quiet and dark, had been ablaze with living fire, when it was a commonplace sight to see humans and Dragons walking alongside each other in primitive peace.

The peace had shattered with the Dragon hunts. There was some controversy over when and why this change in attitude towards Dragons emerged, but Mario thought it was easy enough to figure out. As humans had evolved, they had naturally become more power-hungry and less trusting, and there was no place in a human world for creatures that were more powerful. It was inevitable. Human nature was arrogant and violent. It made perfect sense that humans would destroy the balance of nature by killing gentle and majestic creatures in order to further their own vanity and sense of empowerment.

Besides, Dragons were quickly becoming the majority; they could procreate without perishing from the strain. Humans weren't so lucky. Shortly after a human child's birth, both the mother and father died. The child was then given assigned parents: a couple who had decided not to have children of its own.

Well, Mario thought, with a glance at Luigi, who seemed to understand Mario's need for quiet, there's an exception to every rule. Mario's parents had lived. The doctors had not been able to explain it and ended up chalking it up as a very fortunate genetic abnormality. The family priest had insisted it was a miracle. Mario knew his biological parents for five years before the couple, emboldened by their survival, had tried for another child. However, the genetic defect or the divine intervention, whichever it was, wasn't enough to save them from death twice. Luigi was born, but neither parent survived.

"What's the matter?"

Luigi's voice broke into Mario's reverie and Mario realized that his expression had fallen into a scowl. Luigi was trying to appear unconcerned but his hands were straying to the hem of his shirt in his telltale unconscious sign of emotional distress. Rather than dismiss this as his brother's quirk, Mario found he was quickly becoming annoyed. Ever since the brothers had reunited, Luigi had done nothing _but_ engage in some type of emotional distress, and the novelty of it had worn off.

"What's the matter with _you_?" Mario snapped, rather roughly and with more force than he'd intended.

Luigi was taken aback. "I….Nothing. Nothing, Mario."

He fell silent, his eyebrows knitting together.

But Mario was not ready to leave the issue. "You're lying." Luigi looked at Mario in surprise. "There _is_ something wrong with you. You know it and I know it, and I am losing patience."

Luigi opened his mouth, and closed it again. Then, changing his mind once more, he threw caution to the winds and unleashed everything that was pent up inside him. "Now what's that supposed to mean, huh? You came crying to _me_ for help. You left me when I needed you and then you waltzed back into my life expecting me to drop everything for you, and like a fool, I did. You almost got us both killed, and now you're mad at me because I'm not as rock hard as you? Well, excuse me, Mario, but some of us have hearts."

Luigi stalked past Mario, something close to confusion and closer to hurt struggling but not succeeding to stay off of his face. Gradually, as they walked in strained silence, buildings and houses fell away. The path to the palace stretched ahead, bordered by plant life rather than anything manmade. An eerie feeling of separation from society permeated the atmosphere. The tall trees loomed over the men with branches like outstretched arms. Despite Luigi's anger, he found himself gravitating closer to Mario. And Mario found that, oddly enough, he couldn't begrudge Luigi his fear. In actuality, Mario was getting the creeps as well. Something wasn't right.

Suddenly Mario shoved Luigi off of the path and into the forest.

"Hey, what gives?"

Luigi's question was answered by a thunk—the distinctive sound of an arrow hitting the tree trunk behind which his brother had just pushed him.

"Thanks," Luigi said as he gulped, the color draining from his face.

"Don't thank me yet," Mario admonished harshly, yanking a gun from his hip and pushing it into Luigi's shaky hand. Keeping his back pressed against the tree trunk next to Luigi, he craned his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse of the assailant. The path and the forest opposite the Marios seemed still and tranquil. There was no sign of an enemy.

Luigi was shaken but optimistic. "Maybe they've given up?" he whispered.

"I wouldn't count on it."

Making a quick calculation in his head, Mario snatched the gun from the holster on his other hip and swung the barrel in the direction from which the arrow must have come. He pulled the trigger, not flinching as the gunshot rang out loud and clear and shattered the ersatz peace.

"Move," he ordered Luigi, pushing him.

Luigi stumbled forward, carefully keeping his finger off of the trigger of his own gun.

"Faster," Mario urged through clenched teeth. "Don't you realize I have given away our position? We need to move as fast as we can. If our enemies are still on the other side of the road, the trees will cover us."

At Mario's words, Luigi began an earnest half-run toward the palace, but unfortunately, he was stopped. For their enemy was not still on the other side of the road. Their enemy had not been hit by Mario's bullet. Their enemy, at that moment, leapt from a high branch and landed with a foot in Luigi's face.

Luigi fell heavily on his back, the breath knocked out of him.

At the sound of Luigi's grunt of pain, Mario felt his blood pressure instantly rise to a dangerous level. He took only a moment to assess his opponent: a woman, her gender easily recognizable by the form-fitting dark blue catsuit she wore that covered every inch of her except a strip that included her eyes, which at the moment were blazing with cruel sadism. She had a crossbow and a quiver of projectiles slung across her back and a long sheath at her hip—an empty sheath that usually held the sword that she was just now pointing at the younger Mario's throat.

The woman, a stiletto heel on Luigi's chest, pulled back the sword and prepared to strike. Mario sprang into action. He aimed his gun and fired, right between the woman's shoulder blades. The woman staggered a bit but remained standing. She spared Mario a reproachful glance and readied her blade once more.

Bulletproof suit. Mentally, Mario cursed. Throwing his gun to the ground to free his hands, he charged the woman, knocking her off of Luigi. And found the sword pointing at him instead.

With no weapon at hand, he dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding a well-aimed swing that could have very well decapitated him. He rolled to the left, further into the forest, and settled into a crouch. The woman came at him, sword held aloft. Mario unsheathed a concealed knife and barely lifted it in time to parry another blow. She bore down on his knife with her sword, trying to force him to drop his weapon, but he would rather let his wrist break before he let himself give in. Painfully, he struggled to stand. His knees shook and his wrist felt like it was on fire but finally he was on equal footing with his enemy.

With a sweeping motion, he pulled his knife from the deadlock parry and stepped back. She allowed for no space to grow between them and took a step forward to bridge the gap. He dodged her swipes and jabs and ducked under one high powerful swing.

They remained at a frustrating stalemate until, through a stroke of ingenuity, she feinted up and then struck down, grazing his stomach before he had time to change the direction of his deflection. He sucked in his breath. It wasn't a serious wound, but it had drawn blood, and it would leave another scar.

He stumbled backward and this time his opponent, rather than perceiving this as a well-planned tactical maneuver and hurrying to close the distance, stayed where she was, taking a second to gloat to herself about spilling Mario blood. It was sloppy.

Mario turned his back on her. That was even sloppier and such an astonishingly rookie mistake from the seasoned fighter gave the woman pause, and her amazement worked in Mario's favor. Quick as a flash, he turned back around with his leg extended out and up, delivering a spinning kick that connected with her hand and forced her to drop her sword.

She instinctively reached for it, but he kicked it away. Realizing that she was trapped in a position without her sword up against a man with a knife, she reached behind her back for her crossbow, but Mario held the knife so that it was right at the level between her eyes. She froze.

"Your suit may be bulletproof, knife-proof too," Mario told her levelly, "but it doesn't cover _all_ of you." He pointedly looked her in the eyes.

She returned his gaze with a glare that could have melted icebergs. But finally, with stiff, jerky motions, she unstrapped the crossbow and the quiver of crossbow bolts from her back and let them fall to the ground. Damaged pride made her eyes sullen and uncommunicative, and Mario couldn't tell what she was thinking. Well, Mario thought sourly, she wasn't the only one whose pride was injured. Here he was with a bleeding stomach and he hadn't even scored a nick on her.

Nonetheless, her weapons were on the ground. He approached her, still pointing his knife at her, and gathered the crossbow and bolts. Without taking his eyes from her, he tossed them behind him, near Luigi, who was watching with wide eyes.

"What is your name?" Mario asked the now captive warrior woman.

She held her head aloft. Her eyes were cold and haughty. She said nothing.

"Who are you working for?"

Silence stretched between them as they stared each other down. Both wills were equal in strength. Mario hardly noticed that his brother had come to stand beside him until Luigi cleared his throat. He glanced at Luigi, noticing his black fedora clutched in Luigi's hands. It must have fallen off during the fight. He knew a moment of utter exasperation; during the fight, Luigi's gun, Mario's gun, the sword, and the crossbow and bolts had all fallen to the ground, and Luigi had found that the most important object to retrieve was the hat.

He snatched the hat from Luigi's hands and set it firmly on his head while Luigi spoke.

"Listen, lady, that kick to the face really hurt." He rubbed his nose, still red from the stiletto heel. "More importantly, you hurt my brother. Those are two good reasons I can think of not to spare your life."

It was a good thing Mario was good at keeping his expression neutral, because Luigi's words shocked him to the core. He stole half a glance at the blond man, whose mouth was set in an uncompromising slash of determination.

"And there is only one reason," Luigi continued, "that I can think of to let you live…that you might have valuable information. That's already an unbalanced equation tipping the scales toward killing you, but if you talk and the information's good enough, my brother and I just might have to reconsider. But if you don't talk—" Luigi's voice decreased in both volume and pitch but somehow grew in intensity. "Well then, I suppose you don't have any chance at all."

Mario found that he was almost amused. Had the situation not been so dire, he might have laughed. Luigi was certainly no fighter, but he was a marvelous bluffer. Those acting skills could definitely come in handy.

The woman remained silent, though the shadow of a doubt had crept into her dark eyes, glittering like two black beetles on her face.

"Well? Still not talking?" Mario asked. "And after my brother explained it so well."

All of a sudden, the woman, who had been unnaturally still, came to life and sprang at Luigi. Luigi was still reeling, his mind trying to catch up to what his eyes had processed, by the time she had placed herself at his back and hooked an arm around his neck in a viselike chokehold. She applied pressure to his windpipe, closing off his air supply. He gasped for air that would not come, and, realizing that he couldn't breathe, he panicked, thrashing wildly in her arms, but to no avail. He could not break free. She had overpowered him.

Mario's amusement quickly evaporated. He bounded toward the pair, the knife outstretched, but she stepped backward and, without lessening the pressure to Luigi's neck, bent and scooped up Luigi's fallen gun.

Mario felt his heart in his throat as the barrel of the gun was pressed to Luigi's head. He watched with sinking dread as Luigi's face, turning blue, filled with terror. He swore under his breath; he _knew_ Luigi should have picked up the weapons instead of the hat. He cursed his brother's stupidity. He cursed his own stupidity for not having Luigi pick up the gun when he'd had a chance. Most of all, he cursed the cruel fate that their joint stupidity was about to cost Luigi his life.

The last thing that Mario was willing to do was give up, especially on his brother. But he could honestly think of no way to get Luigi out of this one. He wondered if he should take off, try to save himself at least, if there was nothing to be done for Luigi. Try to embark on the mission to find Peach by himself, the way all of his other missions had been. Immediately shame washed over him for even considering the thought. He _would_ save his brother, or at the very least, he would die trying.

He straightened up, knife in hand, the perfect picture of resolve. Poised to fight. Primed to kill. Prepared to die.


	6. Light

Chapter Six: Light

The sound of a gunshot reverberated through the forest. Luigi went limp. And for an insane, sickening moment, Mario thought he had become an only child again. But then he noted that there was no bullet wound or blood on Luigi's head and he registered the confusion in the woman's eyes. Besides, the sound was wrong; it sounded like the gunshot had come from behind him. Luigi wasn't dead; he had succumbed to the choking and fainted due to the lack of oxygen to his brain.

That only left the question of who had fired the shot, and the answer came quickly. Burly armed men, dressed in the violet and gold regalia that marked them as part of the province royalty militia, stepped out from behind trees, forming a semicircle facing the woman and her unconscious hostage.

Mario could only gape, too stunned to react. Another shot fired and a woman, dressed differently than the militia, stepped forward into the middle of the semicircle. Evidently, she was the one who had fired the warning shots, as her gun's still-smoking barrel pointed to the sky.

The gun looked incongruous in her daintily gloved hand. She wore a lavish orange dress and a golden circlet on her thick brown hair, hardly a wardrobe that assisted an intimidating demeanor. But her gray eyes were steely and her gun hand did not waver.

"By the order of the King and Queen of Arrow City," Princess Daisy Sarasa enunciated, with the loud, clear voice of authority, "release that man."

Mario turned back to see that the woman in blue had dropped Luigi. He resisted the urge to run and check on his brother, noting that the woman still held the gun.

Daisy smirked. "Take her alive," she ordered the militia men, and obediently they began to close in on the woman.

But she had other plans. Dropping Mario's gun next to the insensible Luigi, she sprinted for her quiver of arrows. The men pursued her, guns at the ready, but she made it to the quiver and plunged her hand into the leather sack. That's when it was revealed that she kept more than bolts in that bag. Just as the men reached her, she retracted her hand and held up a small, shiny ball with a blinking green light on its side.

Mario's eyes widened. "Hold your breath!" he cried out, trying to warn the soldiers, but the woman had already thrown the sphere down at her feet. The blinking green light faded to a steady dull red and a thick gas immediately escaped from the little ball's compression, screening the woman's escape and disabling the soldiers by burning their eyes and throats.

Daisy frowned, watching the men who were coughing, tears streaming down their faces. They were attempting to follow the woman through the smokescreen.

"Fall back," Daisy ordered, her voice more gentle than it had been before, and she turned to the other half of the semicircle—the soldiers who had not made it to the woman in time to be affected by the gas. "Half of you go around the gas emission. Search for and detain the enemy. She can't have gotten far. The rest of you, stay here and escort the Marios and me back to the palace."

The men nodded in acknowledgement of the orders and started to organize themselves. Mario turned his attention from these proceedings to the prone body of his brother on the forest floor. He scrambled to Luigi's side, clumsy in his haste. Just in case, he seized Luigi's wrist and checked for a pulse. The strong, steady beating was possibly the most beautiful thing Mario had ever felt, he thought in that moment. He peered into Luigi's slack face and carefully turned it this way and that, searching for wounds. Other than a deep purplish ring of a bruise around his neck, Luigi appeared to be in good shape. But Mario clenched his jaw as he softly traced the shape of the bruise, vowing quietly to himself that he would not allow anything like this to happen to Luigi ever again.

He heard light footsteps and the rustle of skirts and in a moment's time, Daisy was crouching down next to him, looking solemnly at Luigi.

"I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner."

Mario turned to face her. "I'm grateful you got here when you did," he said with quiet sincerity. "You didn't have to come to our aid."

Daisy gave a lopsided grin. "Course I did. I owe you, Mario."

Mario picked up Luigi and stood, wishing with some desperation that Luigi would open his eyes. At the moment, his mind was occupied with only one thought: keeping Luigi safe from further harm. He didn't notice Daisy quietly gather up the two guns, the knife, the sword, and the crossbow and bolts, though he was usually acutely aware of nearby weapons, especially his own.

He and Daisy made their way back onto the beaten path, surrounded by a tight ring of trained bodyguards. For once, Mario didn't have to be intimately aware of his surroundings; he didn't have to mistrust every shadow, nook, and cranny, and he didn't have to keep an eye and an ear out in all directions, because someone else was there to do it for him. Vaguely, through his concern for Luigi, he thought that he could get used to that.

Finally, they reached the imposing, grandiose double doors of the Arrow City province palace. Large oak paneling was bordered by an intricate lattice of pure gold. Mario had only a moment to appreciate the majesty of it all, and then he was quickly ushered inside. The gargantuan doors shut with surprising softness behind him.

Daisy dismissed the armed guard and they broke out of formation and scattered to various posts, leaving Mario, Daisy, and the comatose Luigi alone. Even though Mario had spent the better part of his adult life in and out of the Royal Family castle, which put every province palace to shame, he still couldn't help but be left in awe by the sheer scope of the place. The ceiling loomed above at a height that far surpassed most cathedrals. It was supported by wooden beams reinforced with gold and held in place by spiral pillars, and a glittering crystal chandelier hung from its center like an angelic host. They were standing on a thick strip of rich purple carpet, but the rest of the floor was a smooth surface of glossy marble. Mario stared from side to side as they walked. He noticed on the walls a string of portraits of previous province monarchs from years past. The portraits started out as oil paintings and, as they ascended into more modern times became digital photographs. While he was perusing the pictures, a bubbling sound caught his attention and he turned his head to see a fountain carved in the likeness of a cherub.

He raised an eyebrow at Daisy, as if to say, _Really? Really, Daisy? A fountain?_ But Daisy just smiled.

At the end of the carpet, they reached a wide staircase that ended at a level platform that branched off into two separate staircases leading in opposite directions. Mario followed the princess up the left staircase and down a corridor. He was vaguely recalling the time he had traveled down this same path, when he was a child. At the time, he had just met Peach. He shook his head at how much time could change.

"Funny how I'm the one saving you now," Daisy murmured, almost to herself. It appeared that she'd been following a similar train of thought. She smiled a little. "And kind of funny how you had to be saved from a girl by a girl," she gently teased.

Mario gave her his most deadpan look. "A girl with a crossbow. And a sword. Who has a_ crossbow _and a_ sword_?"

"Good question," Daisy muttered, her eyebrows coming together and a little crease of worry forming on her forehead. But whatever concerns she was thinking of, she didn't voice. Mario could respect that. He rarely said much of what he was thinking. He didn't pry into Daisy's private musings.

"Speaking of good questions," Mario said, "I think I have one for you. I'm grateful that you came, with a squadron, no less." He looked down at her in puzzlement. "But how did you know to come?"

They had stopped in front of the doors to what Mario had by now remembered to be the throne room, the chambers in which the king and queen personally entertained guests. Of course, it would be empty now; the king and queen were no doubt fast asleep.

Daisy turned and met Mario's eyes. "Would you believe me," she said, very solemnly, "if I told you that a little bird whispered in my ear? Literally?"

He raised an eyebrow and shook his head with a snort. "All right then, princess. Don't tell me."

Daisy opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly a commanding male voice from the throne room boomed out, "Daisy? Is that you?"

At Mario's look of surprise, she burst out laughing. "You didn't think the guards wouldn't wake my parents up and inform them of a Mario visit! Wait here; I'll be right back."

She disappeared into the throne room. Mario was left alone with Luigi, who was really starting to get heavy, and he hoped he'd wake up soon. Presently, that same deep voice called, "Mario Mario? We are ready for you now."

Well, just great. He didn't particularly want to walk in the presence of royalty and try to sustain a conversation while holding his comatose brother. He ended up stowing his brother behind a large potted plant near the entrance of the throne room. Then, straightening his hat, he opened the door and stepped inside.

He found himself in a spacious room that was somewhat familiar to a part of his brain, in the mists of old memory. The decorating in this room was spare, to purposely draw the eye to the tall, imposing throne in the middle of the room, and the taller, more imposing man atop it. Province king Antonio's dark skin and coarse black hair cropped close to his head contrasted greatly with his daughter's physical appearance. On his right side, a slightly smaller throne held a woman with skin that was more the color of caramel but nonetheless, she bore no physical resemblance to the princess. Of course, Daisy was adopted. It was hard to miss that fact when one saw the three together.

Mario bowed deeply, purposely averting his eyes from the third, smallest throne on the king's left side lest he meet Daisy's questioning glance and feel compelled to explain Luigi's whereabouts.

"I am honored you have agreed to grant me audience with Your Majesties," he said.

"We didn't have much of a choice," the queen Sophie pointed out, with a regal shake of her brunette head. She was wearing a lacy but modest white nightgown and fuzzy black slippers, but even in this unassuming getup, there was no mistaking that she was a queen—and it wasn't just the tiara on her head that gave it away.

The king spoke next. "We know, of course, that Princess Peach has gone missing. Could that be the reason you were headed this way?"

Mario gave a nod of acknowledgement. Again, he felt a surge of disappointment that Luigi was out cold. The whole expedition to the province palace had been entirely his idea. Now he wasn't even awake to elaborate on the requests he wished to make.

"We are sorry for the…inconvenience you encountered on our grounds," the queen remarked with care. "Rest assured that the threat will be found and dealt with."

Again, Mario nodded.

"If you require further compensation—monetary in nature, perhaps?—"

Mario cut Queen Sophie short. "No, no. Nothing like that. I owe the princess my life and the life of my brother. If she had not happened by when she did—"

"I, for one, would like to know how this 'happening by' came to pass," Antonio rumbled, with a sideways glance at his daughter.

"You and me both, Your Majesty," Mario replied without skipping a beat.

"As I have told you, I went birdwatching," Daisy said curtly, glaring at her father. "I brought Toad with me as a bodyguard—you can ask him if you don't believe me!—and we heard what sounded like a fight. Upon investigation, we discovered the Marios in trouble, so I had Toad give me his gun and return to the palace to fetch some more men. I shot a warning shot to stop the violence and stayed hidden until my backup arrived."

There was a tense silence and then Antonio said in a quiet, neutral voice, "Well, it's lucky for Mario that you decided to go birdwatching in the middle of the night."

"Yes, it certainly is," Mario said, narrowed eyes fixed on Daisy. He wasn't sure he believed her story either.

"I am an adult," Daisy snapped, fierce eyes threatening anyone to challenge the statement. "Frankly, I don't see how what I do and when I do it is anyone's concern. I took the utmost precautions to stay safe. I have not forgotten my responsibilities to the province."

"I am the king," Antonio thundered. "What everyone in my jurisdiction does is my concern, including you."

"Later," Sophie admonished them both, nodding her head at their momentarily forgotten guest.

Antonio relaxed back into his throne, pulling his eyes away from his daughter and focusing on Mario again. "Mr. Mario, do you find that you have any leads concerning where the Princess Peach might have been taken?"

"No leads, sir," Mario had to admit. "But what I do know is that whoever did it must have intimate knowledge of the Princess, of the Royal Castle grounds, and of me. He has probably kidnapped before, and he most likely has friends in high places."

"Or she," said Daisy, with a thoughtful nod.

"Or she," Mario agreed.

"What exactly are you requesting of us?" asked Sophie, leaning forward to peer down at Mario.

"Whatever resources you can afford to spare that might assist me in my search."

The king shifted in his seat. "You know we are grateful for you returning our daughter to us those years ago, but we have given you recompense two times over now. You must understand that you cannot expect to collect on our debt indefinitely."

"Dad!" Daisy leapt to her feet in indignation. "It affects _everyone_ that the Princess is missing. You know what could happen if her power fell into the wrong hands!"

"It would appear to me," said Antonio slowly, "that she has already fallen into the wrong hands. While she was under Mario's protection. Who is to say that Mario didn't have a hand in her disappearance?"

"For the love of— Are you hearing yourself right now?" asked Daisy in disbelief.

Mario's face grew hard and frosty. "That's a serious accusation," he bit out. As an afterthought he added, "Your Majesty."

Antonio held up his hands for peace. "It's merely speculation. You shouldn't begrudge me looking at this from every point of view. Here are the facts—_you_ have an intimate knowledge of the Princess and the Royal Castle. You also have motive. It's no secret that your saving the Princess has made you somewhat legendary. It has lent you importance. If no one abducts her, you lose that importance. It could be that to keep your glory and fame fresh, you've arranged for her to be taken so that you can play the hero and find her. And of course," he added, "you'd call on us for a favor and pretend you need money for your search and walk away with a personal profit."

Daisy looked utterly dismayed. Horrified at her father's behavior, she turned to Mario and shook her head. "I'm so sorry for this."

Mario said nothing.

"And besides," Antonio continued, "Princess Peach is young. The young can be impulsive, as my daughter and her night birdwatching prove. Isn't it possible that Peach might have simply left of her own accord, to get away from the pressure and responsibilities for a bit?"

Mario's eyes flashed up to meet Antonio's. He found he was beside himself, literally shaking, with rage. "You're suggesting," he gritted out with difficulty, "that Princess Peach is a runaway?"

Antonio shrugged. "It's possible, yes?"

"No."

"What?"

Mario glowered at his king. "No. It isn't. Peach isn't irresponsible. She wouldn't pick up and leave without telling anyone." Abruptly, he turned his back on the province monarchs. "Peach is in real trouble, whether you believe it or not," he said as he headed back to the doors. "You can sit here debating the different angles as much as you please, but every minute you do, you're wasting time. I don't have any more time to waste. My Princess needs me."

Without waiting to be dismissed, he opened the door and left the throne room, letting the door clang shut behind him. To his relief, Luigi was sitting up when he reached the potted plant.

Dazed and disoriented, Luigi mumbled, "What happened?" Then, his voice sharpening, he demanded, "Are you okay, Mario?"

"I'm fine. We're both fine. Now let's go."

Luigi stood, looking around him. "We made it to the palace?" he said in surprise.

"Yes, and I've already had audience with the king and queen. I don't think asking them for anything is going to work out."

"Mar," Luigi said reproachfully, looking down at his shorter, older brother.

"What?"

"You really should have woken me up when we got to the diplomatic part of this venture. I would've done all the talking. You may be great at fighting, but you're not so good with people."

Mario crossed his arms, not wanting to acknowledge the truth of that statement. "I think I did fine," he muttered.

"Did you lose your temper?"

Mario shrugged. "He said something about Peach that was uncalled for—and a baseless assumption."

Luigi sighed. "I'll take that as a yes. Well, did you at least thank them for their time, or did you storm out?"

"_Thank_ them? For wasting my time? This whole visit was a waste. All I got out of it was an insult to my character and Peach's. _Thank them?_ You must be joking."

"So that would be…you stormed out," Luigi said with a shake of his head.

Mario took a breath to answer, but just then the door to the throne room was thrown open once again and a very irate princess stepped into the corridor.

"Mario, I—oh, Luigi, you're awake," she interrupted herself, turning from one brother to the other.

"Princess Daisy! Uh…you saw me pass out?" Luigi asked, his face going red under his green hat.

Daisy giggled, and Mario said, "Luigi, she was the one who saved us from that woman in blue."

"No kidding? Well, I'm glad you did," Luigi said. "She was crazy! Did you know she put a gun to my head?"

"We know, Luigi; we were both there," Mario cut in. "And we really should be going; we can't impose on the province palace hospitality any more than we already have."

Daisy put her hands on her hips. "You know perfectly well you don't have anywhere to go, Mario. You're staying here for tonight; I don't care what Mom and Dad say."

"You care what _I_ say, don't you?" Mario retorted. "And I say that we don't stay another minute under the roof of someone who would disparage the Princess so shamelessly. Come on, Luigi." He turned and began to stride away, trusting that Luigi would follow as he always had.

But he reached the end of the corridor and heard no footsteps behind him. He stole a glance over his shoulder to see Luigi and Daisy standing exactly where they'd been. She had her hands behind her back and was leaning forward to tell him something, and he was laughing nervously and blushing. That wasn't remarkable all in itself; it seemed like nearly all of Luigi's interactions with the gentler sex involved awkwardness and face reddening on his part.

Mario stomped back to the couple, bemused. He was not at all used to being ignored. For better or for worse, someone was usually paying him attention.

"Did you not hear me?"

Luigi peeled his eyes from Daisy regretfully and turned to his brother. "You really ought to stop expecting people to do what you say after you storm off in a huff."

Daisy stepped between the two men, holding her hands up in front of her in a gesture of goodwill. "Mario, I think you two should stay here and let Luigi try his hand at convincing my parents in the morning." She grinned, her eyes shifting behind her where Luigi stood, rubbing the back of his head and smiling apologetically at Mario. "He's so funny and charming, I bet he could win even _them_ over."

Mario was too shocked to react. Funny? Charming? His brother? He looked from Princess Daisy to Luigi, but try as he might, he could not see what Daisy saw.

Ah, well…whatever, it was getting late, and Mario was too tired to think too hard about this now. If Luigi and Daisy were going to insist that they stay, they might as well move out of the corridor and into guest bedroom chambers.

Daisy apparently followed his train of thought, as she stretched and yawned. "Well, it's been a long night. I think we could all use some sleep—and I don't want to hear any more arguing, Mario."

"Fine by me," Mario grumbled, the prospect of bed causing him to perk up so much that his newfound grudge against King Antonio was almost forgotten. He fell into step behind Daisy as she began to lead him and Luigi back down the corridor. With no immediate pressing issue to think about and the conversation extinguished, Mario's body, which had instinctively been holding off pain and staving off exhaustion, reminded him with a vengeance of the wound on his stomach and the fight he'd had with the woman and the overload of stress accompanying the thought that Luigi had died. He stumbled and staggered, finding that there was difficulty in keeping his balance.

Luigi noticed his struggle and, without comment, put his arm around Mario to steady him. Mario frowned, not meeting Luigi's eyes, ashamed that he had shown such weakness. He had endured far tougher beatings. The skirmish in the woods had been child's play. Yet he couldn't deny that the feeling of being supported was a foreign yet welcome feeling. He couldn't remember the last time someone had helped him when he was injured.

After what seemed like an eternity of trudging along after Daisy, they finally stopped in front of a large door. Daisy turned to the men, indicating the room with a dry flourish. "You'll want separate rooms, yes?"

Luigi looked down at Mario with clear worry on his face. "Bro, I'm not sure you should be alone—"

"Yes," Mario interrupted, still not looking at Luigi. "Separate would be preferable."

Daisy grabbed hold of the golden rung that stood on the door in place of a knob and pulled it open to reveal a neutral but lavish bedroom, with a bed that seemed large, soft, and inviting, a bed that at the moment was a sight for Mario's sore eyes. And sore back. And sore stomach. And sore legs. And sore everything.

"In that case, this is your room, Mario."

Mario disentangled himself from his brother and stumbled into the room, his eyes already bleary with sleep.

"Are you sure?" Luigi asked him anxiously. "You'll be all right?"

"I will if you leave me alone and let me get some sleep," Mario murmured with a great yawn.

Daisy was smiling as she closed the door on Mario—who immediately collapsed on top of the comforter, not heeding the fact that he was fully clothed or that he was at the moment a very dirty man lying on clean linen. He was only conscious of these facts for a second before sleep overtook him.

Outside Mario's room, Daisy was assuring the other Mario, "I think he'll be just fine," and leading him to the room next to Mario's. It was almost exactly the same as Mario's and Luigi eyed the bed with the same sort of appreciation Mario had felt. He smiled slightly at Daisy, removing his hat and grasping it tightly in both hands.

"I'm sorry about Mario. He's a little…rough around the edges," he told her.

Daisy waved the apology away. "Call me crazy, but I like the grumpy little turd," she answered with a chuckle.

"Yes, well…Good night, Princess."

"Good night, Luigi."


	7. Choice

Chapter Seven: Choice

"Ow…"

The moan sounded hopeless, full of fear and full of pain, all at once. It also sounded horribly familiar. Confused and hoping against hope that he was mistaken, Mario turned to discover the source of the sound.

Luigi's blond hair was barely visible through the dried blood caking the crown of his head, a head that was at that moment bowed in utter defeat. His hands had been yanked above his head in a painful position and fastened in place with shackles. Mario squinted as a drop of water fell into his eye from the dank ceiling. He rubbed the moisture out of his eye, surprised to see that his hands were free; he had not been shackled like his brother.

Just then Luigi gave a hacking cough and Mario's attention left his assessment of his surroundings and returned to his brother's emaciated appearance. The tall blond man looked somehow small. His shirt had been stripped from him, revealing lash marks and visible ribs. Mario flinched, unable to comprehend how Luigi could have fallen into this state.

"Luigi," he said, but it came out in a hoarse whisper. Luigi appeared not to have heard.

Clearing his throat, Mario tried again, and this time his voice was stronger. "Luigi."

No response.

Mario watched the torchlight flicker and cast deeper shadows on Luigi's bowed head. He looked around at the gray stony walls surrounding them.

"Are we…in the _dungeon_, Luigi?" Mario asked incredulously.

Still, Luigi said nothing. He didn't even move.

Mario frowned and moved nearer to his brother, noting with some surprise that his feet weren't shackled either. He could move about freely. He looked to his left and saw nothing but a poorly lit and seemingly endless corridor. The path to the right revealed a twin passageway.

"Luigi, I'm going to try to find the way out of here," Mario told his unresponsive brother. "Then I'll come back and get you out."

He was just about to leave when he felt his shirt snag on something. Turning back around, he discovered Luigi's skeletal fingers grasping the corner of his shirt, though his shoulders remained hunched and his head remained down.

"Luigi—"

Slowly, Luigi raised his head, looking Mario full in the face with bloodshot eyes that had lost any spark of optimism or innocence they once held. His expression seemed like it was carved from granite.

When Luigi opened his mouth and spoke, it seemed like he had to make a conscious effort to make his mouth muscles work the way they were supposed to, and his voice was cracked and croaky from disuse. "If you take the left path, you save me," he wheezed.

Mario swallowed. It made him physically ill to see his brother like this. Who had done this to him—and when had they done it? He tugged Luigi's fingers from his shirt and answered weakly, "All right, I'll go left, Weege. Just hang on."

"If you take the right path," Luigi rasped as Mario was turning, "you save Peach."

Mario froze.

He turned back to meet Luigi's probing, knowing eyes, a disconcerting look to see on Luigi's face.

"How do you know this? Peach is here? How can you be sure?"

"You can only save one of us," Luigi continued as if Mario had not spoken. He smiled, a strange, sad, little smile. "Which do you choose?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Mario replied without missing a beat. "I'll save you first and then we'll both go get Peach."

"It doesn't work like that, Mario. Once you've made your choice, you will never be able to return," Luigi said tonelessly.

Before Mario could begin to ask how that could be, a woman's voice was clearly heard ringing from the dark depths of the right corridor, "You let me go! I'll never do it; do you understand?"

"That's Peach!" Mario said, stunned. He'd know that voice anywhere. He had found her, so soon, and—he could admit this to himself now, now that she was within his reach—he hadn't really expected to ever find her, at least not alive. Relief crashing over him in a huge wave, he stumbled toward the voice, forgetting about his brother for a moment.

The memory of Luigi's words stopped him in his tracks. Was it really possible that he wouldn't be able to come back for Luigi? Nonsense. He dismissed the thought. Luigi was obviously malnourished and in pain, a combination that could wreak havoc with any mind.

"Stop it!" the Princess snapped, sounding more impatient than anything. There was a pause and then, with more fear infused into her voice, she squeaked, "Wha—what do you think you're doing? No! Stop that! Stop it!"

Mario didn't wait to hear anymore and he didn't stop to think about Luigi's puzzling message. At least he had to see her; he had to see Peach, and he had to see what awful things her kidnapper was doing to her…

And then he heard Luigi.

He stopped, bewildered. The voice he heard was not dry and husky but rich and full of good cheer—exactly the way Mario remembered him. Mario turned around in spite of himself and looked wonderingly at the crumpled heap Luigi was on the floor.

Luigi looked up, noticing Mario's stare. He smiled that same odd smile again. "That wasn't me," he croaked. He jerked his thumb toward the left corridor, as well as he could with shackled wrists.

Luigi's voice rang out again. "You don't scare me," he said with a laugh. "My brother's just down the hall. He's coming to help me."

It was said with the complete faith and trust that Mario was used to hearing from Luigi. He passed the shackled Luigi and headed toward the left hall, eager to catch a glimpse of the Luigi with innocence intact. He didn't know how it could be possible, that there were two, but he was beyond questioning at the moment; his mind was filled with the desire to see his brother.

Peach screamed. The shrill sound pierced through Mario's consciousness and he whipped his head back in that direction. But no sooner had he taken a decisive step to the right than he heard Luigi call out with a slight waver, "Mario? Where are you?"

Mario found himself in the middle again, right where he had started, no closer now to any progress being made. The shackled Luigi looked up at Mario, squinting as if he was staring straight at the sun.

"Make your choice."

Mario stared at the gaunt remnant of his brother on the filthy floor, feeling more helpless than he had in a long time. His heart sank as he listened to Peach's wails mingle with Luigi's calls growing ever more desperate and ragged. He sank to a sitting position and dropped his head into his hands. "I can't."

There was a silence. Luigi said in a low voice, "Then you forfeit your right to save anyone at all."

All of a sudden Mario heard a grating metallic ripping sound and felt cold fingers wrapped around his throat. His hands fell away from his face and he saw Luigi's face, twisted into a grotesque mask of rage and desperation, just an inch from his own. And it was Luigi's hands, chains still dangling from his wrists, that were choking him.

He barely had time to marvel at how shrunken little Luigi had somehow managed to rip the shackles from the stone wall. There was no time to be shocked that his brother was choking him. He felt in his back pocket, and to his great surprise his fingers closed around the handle of a small knife. Uncharacteristically, he had forgotten to check to make sure all his weapons had been taken away; it appeared that one had not. Mario pulled the knife from his pocket and held it at Luigi's throat.

The rage immediately drained from Luigi's eyes, to be replaced by a cold rush of fear. Luigi's hands fell away from Mario's throat and dangled, limp and useless, at his sides. Mario began to put pressure on the blade, but at the first drop of blood, he hesitated, his eyes shifting up to Luigi's.

They stood there, staring at one another, and Mario found he was once again unable to make a decision, unable to retract the knife but also unable to finish the job. It was not in his nature to let go without punishment someone who had just attempted to take his life. But it was also against his nature to harm Luigi.

The room swam before Mario's eyes. His vision blurred and then abruptly swung back into focus. He blinked at the sudden light and his disoriented senses took a while to catch up to what was happening. He heard stammering: "P-please, please, I'm sorry, please…"

He looked up to see that Luigi's face had changed to another man's, a man dressed in the unmistakable black and white suit of a butler. A butler with a stuttering problem. Well, on second thought, Mario mused, anyone might develop a stuttering problem if he had a knife at his throat. Mario pulled the knife back, embarrassed. Most people knew better than to disturb him when he was sleeping.

The butler straightened up, eyeing Mario warily. It was only after Mario slipped the knife back into his pocket that he gestured to a silver platter atop a rolling cart. "Your breakfast, sir."

"You shouldn't startle people out of their sleep," Mario grunted. He couldn't bring himself to be too angry, though. Instead, something close to exuberance filled him to the brim. _It was only a dream._

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll keep that in mind, sir," the butler was saying as he beat a hasty retreat to the door, no doubt off to gossip to the maids and servants about crazy knife-happy Mario Mario, who had tried to kill the butler bringing him breakfast immediately upon waking. Mario wasn't too bothered. His mind was preoccupied with the dream and his growling stomach was preoccupied with the aroma coming from the silver platter. After unwrapping the silverware beside the platter from its monogrammed linen—with difficulty—he dug into the meal: bacon, sausage, pancakes, waffles, eggs, French toast, fruit, muffins, as well as coffee, tea, and milk. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until food was in front of him. The servings were fit for a king, and Mario polished his plate.

But the dream didn't stray far from his mind. He remembered the ultimatum; it had come down to a choice between his brother and Princess Peach. And he had not been strong enough to choose, which had left him with the consequence of saving no one.

And if it came down to that choice, in real life…could he choose? Of course, it had only been a dream. There was no use in contemplating a hypothetical situation that would not, could never, happen. But still he wondered…could he choose?

The echoes of Peach's screams reverberated in his mind with such clarity that he jumped. After a moment, he sighed, cursing under his breath. The need to see her again, to at least know what had become of her, gnawed interminably at his insides. He stood, leaving the empty platter where it was, and crossed to the sliding door on the far side of the room where the closet was. Opening the closet revealed a vast array of outfits—outfits of every size for both genders; it was, after all, a guest room. Selecting a plain black long-sleeved shirt and some matching long pants, he nearly ran to the bathroom adjoining the bedroom and, not taking even a moment to admire the opulence of the marble floor, large and claw-footed tub, crystal faucets, and golden-framed mirror, he began to run a hot bath.

With the water running, his sense of urgency faded and he leaned against the wall, watching the light dance across the crystal faucets without really seeing anything at all. He had no clues. He had no leads. Still he was confident that he _could_ find the Princess, that at least it was possible. If he had enough determination, if he spent enough time looking, eventually he would happen upon a clue. There were people with information on the kidnapper; Mario only needed to find them and extract the information for himself. He only wished he knew how. He wished he knew where to start.

When the water had reached the appropriate height, Mario gratefully stripped off his clothes and sank into the steaming bath. He sighed, relaxing for the first time in what seemed like a very long time, as the warm water loosened the knots in his muscles. Finally able to slough off the gore, grime, and dirt of his latest adventure was like shedding a skin, ending a short chapter of his life and beginning fresh.

Things would be different now, Mario thought, sinking under the water to soak his hair. He would once and for all stop being the cause of worry and doubt to enter Luigi's wide, impressionable eyes. He could even try his hand at that diplomacy thing; after all, surely King Antonio hadn't _meant_ to offend him, and perhaps he had been a tad touchy and quick to anger…

_What wonders a soft bed, hearty breakfast, and warm bath can work on a man's psyche,_ Mario thought to himself sardonically as he drained the tub and toweled himself off.

There was a pounding at his door and then a familiar voice, far too cheery for the early hour, said, "Wakey wakey! You decent in there?"

Daisy burst into the room, her hair in its usual unkempt disarray under her circlet, without waiting for an answer.

Mario raised an eyebrow, pulling the borrowed pants firmly to his waist, and shaking stray water from his hair. "Barely."

"We're adults," Daisy said, sitting down on the unmade bed dismissively. "I'm sure you don't have anything I haven't seen before."

"Oh yeah?" Mario leaned on his elbow beside her and sent her one of his most charming grins. "Well, I've heard that you royal types are quite the sheltered bunch. No matter how much experience you think you have, Princess, I am confident that I could surprise you in several ways."

Daisy drew her skirts up beneath her, rising to the near-challenge good-naturedly. "And I suppose your example of us 'royal types' would be Peach? I hate to disillusion you, Mr. Mario, but Peach is not, in fact, a paragon of princess, upon which we can all be compared." She glanced over at him with a teasing grin. "And furthermore, if you think you're going to sweep me off my feet with a line like that—"

Mario straightened up, his enjoyment in the banter suddenly evaporating. "Don't flatter yourself, Princess. I say the same thing to every flavor of the week. You're nothing special."

Daisy stood up with Mario, shrugging. "My, my. You sure know how to flatter a woman," she remarked, but she took Mario's hand in her own and tugged. "I didn't come just for a morning chat, you know. There's something I want to show you."

It soon became painfully obvious that the princess, tanned and finely toned as she might have been, did not have the brute strength necessary to tug Mario _anywhere _unless he chose to budge. And he found that it was rather amusing to watch her vain struggles, so he made the choice to stay put.

Daisy dropped Mario's hand and stood back. "Fine. If you want to play it that way, I guess you aren't interested in seeing our garage."

In spite of himself, Mario perked up at the mention of cars. He was admittedly in a sort of withdrawal since he'd had to surrender his ride to Ernie's diesel service, and they hadn't even been able to stop by V&M Motors.

Daisy smiled. "I can practically see you salivating. Come on then," she said, and beckoned him forward with a wave of her hand. This time he followed her obediently.

They hadn't gone far when Mario heard Luigi's enthusiastic voice, and a low, rumbling murmur in response. Mario and Daisy turned a corner, and Luigi was there, saying to a dark-skinned, veritable giant of a guard, "Well, to be honest, I don't know Princess Peach all that well. I mean, no more than everybody else knows her. I was there the first time Mario saved her, of course, but that was _years_ ago. Mario knows her a lot better than I do."

"You don't say?" remarked the guard, with interest. "So you haven't seen her since she was…"

"Fifteen," Luigi said with a laugh. "And I was ten. I've seen pictures of her, though. She's grown up nice."

"No kidding," agreed the guard.

Daisy cleared her throat, and Luigi and the guard looked around at her.

"Luigi, Toad. If you're quite done discussing Peach's looks, I believe we were all going to the garage," she admonished pointedly.

Mario ignored Luigi's predictable coloring and stammering and focused his attention on the guard. "Toad," he said, recognizing the name. "You're the one who went out with Daisy when she decided to…go birdwatching."

"Yes," Toad said, meeting Mario's gaze coolly, nonverbally daring him to make an accusation of falsehood.

Mario shrugged. "You could have at least said stargazing. If you didn't want anyone to question you, you could at least make your story believable. So how long have you two been seeing each other?" he asked, his voice relaxed and casual.

Luigi looked from Daisy to Toad, his eyes wide. Toad opened his mouth to speak, but Daisy beat him to it, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling with anger.

"Toad and I are most certainly _not_ seeing each other. If we were, I wouldn't hide it. I'd never be ashamed of anyone I loved. I don't need to sneak around like a criminal!"

Mario looked at Daisy, carefully keeping his expression unfathomable while he considered her sincerity. She certainly _sounded_ firm and indignant, but that could just indicate that she was an adept liar.

Luigi broke the uncomfortable silence with a welcome change of subject. "Exactly how big is this garage?"

Daisy deliberately turned her entire body from Mario and grinned at the other Mario brother. "About as big as Mario's ego."

"Classy," Mario muttered.

"So…gargantuan," Luigi said, smiling his lopsided smile that was reserved for expressing his love of the automobile. He didn't even seem to think about how he had just insulted his brother, but Mario decided not to comment. It had been a long time since he'd seen Luigi smile like that. He wouldn't make that smile disappear from Luigi's face any sooner than it would naturally.

Less awed by the magnificence of the entry room when crossing it the second time, Mario easily matched the princess's sprightly gait as she bore singlemindedly toward the door with the air of one so used to opulence that the marble buttresses and gem-encrusted brocades had faded into commonplace background scenery in her mind. Luigi fell into step beside Mario, barely glancing around him. Mario found this strange, as Luigi had been unconscious the first time they'd been in this room, and even Mario—who by now was fairly accustomed to being surrounded by indulgent architectural beauty—had been awed and humbled. Luigi was used to the slums of Arrow City, and a house cluttered with newspapers and beer cans. Surely he shouldn't so easily cross the room without even batting an eye.

"You must be really excited to see those cars," Mario remarked to his brother, as they exited the building and Daisy led them to an adjacent structure. She fumbled for a pouch fastened to the sash on the waist of her dress and pulled out a jingling ring of old-fashioned heavy wrought-iron keys.

"Why do you say that?" Luigi asked Mario, watching Daisy somehow sort which key to use, despite every key on the ring being identical and unmarked.

Daisy unlocked the door to the garage and slid it up before Mario could reply. Light shone into the dark interior of the building and the Marios stared into the room, both speechless from the sight. Daisy and Toad walked in, but neither Mario nor Luigi took a step, seemingly paralyzed.

Daisy looked back at them. "Hey. You two coming?" Then she bit her lip, worry entering her eyes. "What? Not what you're used to?"

"No," Luigi breathed finally. "Not what we're used to at all." He took his first hesitant step into the garage with the reverence of the devoutly religious.

There were rows upon rows of sleek, polished vehicles, perfectly lined up and arranged according to size. They ranged from tiny cars that seated only two people to monster automobiles that could easily fit a party of fifteen. Mario followed Luigi, admiring the firm, fully-inflated tires and sparkling rims. He gingerly placed his hand on a gleaming dark green hood and imagined the engine running, warm and purring, beneath his palm. The thought sent delicious chills down his spine, and he remembered that first and foremost, before he had been a fighter or a Guardian—he had been a mechanic. He stood back, just taking in the rows and rows of cars, and he thought to himself: _I'm home._

"It's wonderful," Luigi said beside him, and Mario jumped, startled that he was so close.

"Quite the understatement," Mario murmured.

"I thought you two would appreciate this!" Daisy said in triumph. "I don't see why Mom and Dad even keep this stash of cars. They're rarely put to use."

That didn't surprise Mario. Though this collection of vehicles was beautiful, with clean, filled tires and shells so spotless they glowed, well-loved cars could never be kept in this condition. These fully-functioning and, Mario was sure, trusty automobiles had been delegated to nothing more than crude decoration.

"That should be a crime," Luigi muttered.

Daisy shrugged. "I wonder if you two want to use one of these cars in your search? Maybe you should just toss that old one you guys have altogether and start fresh. It would make you harder to track, don't you think?"

Well, actually, yes, Mario did think. But Luigi's answer was swift and adamant. "_No!_"

Daisy was taken aback. "What's the matter?"

"That was my dad's car," he said shortly, not meeting the princess's eyes, and then, abruptly, he walked out of the garage, the charm of the place wearing off for him.

Daisy opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by the terrible sound of an explosion. The earth shook violently, and Toad, Daisy, and Mario lost their footing and toppled to the ground. Another explosion came, and then another, the waves of sound forces in themselves, almost physically beating at their bodies.

Mario felt as if his ears were about to explode. A fierce insistent ringing pierced through his brain, lending all sound an echoing, underwater effect. He saw Daisy's mouth moving, but could not pick out her words, and only a split second after his brain had processed that fact, he found that he had a much pressing matter to worry about than whatever Daisy was saying. He saw Luigi come flying unnaturally through the open door of the garage and lie very, very still. Something else came flying in after him, something small and silver and cylindrical, with a flashing red light, emitting rhythmic beeps. Mario recognized what it was in dull horror and looked toward the door.

Outlined starkly against the light of outside, the woman in the blue catsuit stood in the doorway, holding the top of the garage door. Mario stared at her. Even though he could not make out anything other than a shadowy presence, he was certain she was staring right back, that her eyes were meeting his. He quickly found his balance and stood up, lunging at her, but she brought the garage door down with a definitive slam, and he was sure she was smirking under that suit.

The darkness was complete save for the flashing red light that heralded the last few seconds before the bomb would explode, decimating the garage. There was no time to waste. Mario hurried to where he estimated he remembered Luigi lay. He ended up stepping on and tripping over the prone body of his brother, but then he quickly ducked down, placed Luigi's limp arm over his shoulder and carried him to the door. He could sense Daisy and Toad near him and, interminably, that beeping time bomb, which somehow seemed to be faster than the explosions and their devastating aftereffects on Mario's ears.

Mario leaned down and tried to pry open the garage door, to no avail. He stared, numbly unable to believe this simple fact: the door would not budge, and because of this, he, Luigi, Princess Daisy, and Toad were about to be blown to bits. He had gotten himself out of tougher scrapes and faced more formidable foes than a locked door. Could this really be the way he was to be defeated?

Mario pulled at the door with both hands, straining with all his strength. He sensed, rather than heard, Toad and Daisy trying as well. Mario didn't quit, didn't even allow his mind to acknowledge the possibility of defeat, even when the beeps on the bomb grew faster and higher in pitch, signaling that ignition was nearly upon them.

His last thought as the countdown reached zero was a nonsensical wondering if the woman in blue was standing at a safe distance, watching the door, imagining what they were doing and laughing at the foolishness and futility, waiting with bated breath to see them explode and gloat about her victory.

_I wonder who she's working for._

_ I wonder if she'll be rewarded._

_ Or punished?_

_ I wonder how she got the funding to have compressed gas spheres…and bombs…_

And then the bomb exploded.


	8. Devastation

Chapter Eight: Devastation

Mario had automatically at the last second put his arms around his brother and turned his back to the bomb, as if shielding Luigi's body with his own would be effective against an explosion. And the explosion came, loud and excruciatingly painful, and Mario was glad that at least, at least the woman in blue had done Luigi a courtesy in knocking him unconscious before throwing him in to die; at least Luigi wouldn't feel it. It was painful, so painful…but, something was wrong.

It shouldn't be painful for this long; surely he should be blown to pieces at this point. Come to think of it, only his back was in pain. It was searing hot, and felt like it had been shredded by shrapnel. Yet, beyond the smell of burning flesh—his own, he thought, sickened—he could smell something else, something that made him open the eyes that he had squeezed shut, in spite of himself.

His eyes widened, and he took a big whiff, unable to comprehend what he was seeing and smelling. But it was true, though he didn't know how it was possible. He was smelling fresh air, and somehow, _somehow,_ they were outside the garage. Yes, they had caught the brunt of the explosion, but from just outside the door.

Mario straightened up with difficulty, feeling splintered metal shift against his spine. Gritting his teeth against the agony, he turned to face the wreckage. Tall flames licked the air, and Mario squinted as his eyes burned and watered, both from the brightness and the intense heat. The garage was folding in on itself, and the cars—those once-perfect specimens of automobile—gave ugly groans, squeaks, and screeches of protest as they burned and fell apart.

Beside him, Toad was standing up, his chest and stomach bloody from shrapnel and his face mangled—but he was, impossibly, alive. Daisy stood too, trembling. The explosion had destroyed her clothes, but there was no thought of modesty from anyone. Her dress clung to her savagely wounded back in tattered shreds, soaking more and more by the minute with her blood.

"Well, we're not dead," Daisy finally said wryly, choking on the thick, hot air. "That would hurt way less."

Mario was surprised to hear her. The ringing in his ears wasn't any less painful, but it appeared he was adapting to it. It seemed surreal to hear a human voice clearly again. For one crazy second, Mario thought that he would have preferred it had he never regained his hearing and gone permanently deaf, but he shook his head. That couldn't be truly what he desired. He was a fighter, and he heavily relied on utilizing all five senses.

He was interrupted in his musing by Toad promptly doubling over and vomiting.

Well, I suppose someone has to do it, Mario thought, detached, watching Toad almost clinically. Since Luigi's out, someone has to take his role.

Daisy supported Toad's back as best she could with hands that shook, and Mario once again slung Luigi's arm over his shoulder. Once Toad had finished being sick, the wounded company turned to look at the main castle, which had fared no better than the garage. The mighty stone had been demolished, the gold dulled by soot, the jewels crushed. The palace was crumpling even as they watched, the pillars reduced to nothing but dust. Everywhere, there was the fire, consuming everything, sparing nothing.

Daisy's eyes filled with horrified tears that coursed down her cheeks as the implication of this sight fully set in. "_Mom! Dad!_" What was meant to be an anguished shout came out as a hoarse, raspy whisper. Daisy staggered toward the burning castle, determination making her disregard the pain.

Mario reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her. His touch was gentle, and she could have easily escaped from his grasp, but she froze in her tracks, bowing her head, now devoid of the golden circlet that marked her as royalty.

"It's too dangerous," he told her quietly. "If they got caught in the blast, there's no way they could have survived….I'm sorry."

Daisy turned her stricken face up to Mario, and her eyes spoke of an inability to comprehend the fathoms of pain coursing through her. An eerie hollowness haunted the province princess. Mario felt something like a lance through his gut as he looked down at her.

"I have to at least look," she whispered brokenly.

"There's no point," Mario said, more roughly than he intended.

"I have to see," Daisy insisted, and then Mario understood. Closure. She had to see the remains—if there were any to be seen. He had been the same way, with his parents, and in a way, he supposed, he had been lucky. At least he had known there would be bodies, and proper funerals…

"Let's go," Mario agreed quietly. "Wait here," he added to Toad, handing Luigi to the guard. Toad wordlessly took Luigi, and Mario and Daisy supported each other to the main castle. Just outside the doors lay two guards who had been standing watch. Mario knelt down and checked their pulses and was surprised to feel hammering beneath his fingertips. Then he spotted the culprit of their unconsciousness: a very familiar little sphere.

Mario picked up the gas sphere and rolled it in his fingers. The woman—Blue Assassin, he had dubbed her in his mind—had only incapacitated the guards, but she had deliberately left them alive. Meaning…what? That there were only specific people she wanted to kill, and she didn't kill anyone unnecessarily? He supposed there was a certain perverse honor in that.

It was a struggle to push past the guards and into the burning building. For one, every single instinct he had was trying to pull him away from the danger, and screaming in protest at his sheer stupidity in defying their efforts of preservation. Secondly, the overwhelming heat was like a physical presence, like a protective barrier. It felt like they were stepping into a furnace, and salty sweat immediately fell, stinging into his eyes and down his chin, giving him the odd impression that his face was melting off like plastic in a fire.

Mario pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose to preserve what little fresh air supply he possessed, motioning Daisy to do the same. After she obeyed, they journeyed further into the once-mighty castle that was falling down in flaming pieces around them. The inside was possibly more devastated than the outside. Charred, melted, or smashed into unrecognizable oblivion, everything that had made this place a majestic sight had been forcibly stripped down to its bare foundations and exposed as nothing more than dust. Mario thought, still somehow detached, that it had been a pity that Luigi hadn't stopped to appreciate the proud, noble magnificence of the castle while he'd had the chance.

They passed the place where the fountain had been. A dark, wet, ugly patch of earth was all that marked its place. Yet a few yards away lay the marble head of the cherub who had graced the fountain, still remarkably recognizable, despite cracks and chars. The child's head gazed with pupil-less eyes, an incongruous beauty in the midst of chaos and destruction. Something inside Mario made him want to burst into tears, and take the head in his arms and cradle it, but he quickly shook off that bizarre fantasy and went deeper into the castle.

Daisy's pace quickened and she began to lead the way. They were met with fiery obstacles that they had to jump over, go around, or backtrack until they found an alternate corridor. These delays bought them time before they had to face—

Daisy stopped and, even though she knew better, dropped her hands limply to her sides, letting the collar of her tattered dress slip off of her nose. She made a little squeaking sound, too weary to be a cry, her eyes wide and fixed on what lay before her.

Mario stared impassively. He had to. He couldn't afford to break. He couldn't afford to care about what happened to everyone in the entire world, or his sanity would take leave of his mind. He especially couldn't care about the severed arms and legs, the organs displayed in gory prominence, the headless bodies and the bodiless heads. He caught sight of one poor maid's _half_ a head, which was particularly gruesome, but even with one sightless eye and half a gaping mouth, the expression of terror and despair filling the young maid's face was unmistakable. Other faces, those belonging to the servants who had taken the brunt of the explosion, had melted unrecognizably into the bone. Still others had expressions frozen in a state of dutiful work or animated conversation, unaware that this would be their very last moment, frozen in a grotesque snapshot in time forever. If someone had told them five minutes prior to their deaths that they would soon meet a grisly end because of a bomb, they would have laughed at the improbability and continued their work and conversations, same as they had without forewarning. Death claims us all, but nobody ever really expects it to come for him—and then it does. And now the servants lay in pieces, scattered across the floor like so much debris.

Had Mario thought that the Blue Assassin had any honor in her for keeping those two guards alive? Looking at the servants, young and old, man and woman alike, who had been slaughtered indiscriminately despite harming no one, Mario clenched his fist. The high concentration of blood in this indescribable heat and the burning flesh created a thick stench of death that rocked through Mario's body and nauseated him, but he was sickened more by the Blue Assassin's ruthlessness and cruelty than by the smell she'd left behind in her blazing trail of destruction. Despite his resolution not to care, he felt the anger inside him building up and threatening to erupt, but all he did was reach over and pull Daisy's bodice back up over her nose.

Daisy reached up and held it there unsteadily. She had managed to pull up her eyes from the carnage and look straight forward, but Mario could tell she would not so easily erase the horror from her mind. They bore on, taking great pains not to trip over or disturb the bodies of the servants. It seemed disrespectful, somehow. They deserved to be left untouched.

Mario steeled himself with the realization, _We're going to find Antonio and Sophie in the same state._ He had thought it before they had even entered the castle, of course—but after seeing firsthand how devastating the bombs had been, how they had ripped through human bodies like tissue paper, he came to a new understanding of the condition in which the province king and queen's royal corpses would be found. He imagined Daisy would collapse in grief at the sight. She might even faint, which would be easier—postpone by way of temporary oblivion having to think about her regal father and noble mother in bloody pieces. He'd catch her and take her out of this house of death, and gladly leave it far behind.

They reached the throne room and Daisy unhesitatingly threw the doors wide, wincing at the heat. They faced a wall of fire that leveled abruptly at a pocket of air on top of it.

"We can't get through," Mario told Daisy, looking at her with regret. "Let's continue. Maybe we can check their bedroom."

"They wouldn't be there at this time of day. They'd be here. I know it!" Daisy looked up at the narrow pocket of air above the wall of fire. "Mario, throw me over the fire!"

Mario was already shaking his head before Daisy had finished her order. "Are you crazy? Even if I managed to aim that precisely, how would you get back out?" He was feeling light-headed from the smoke and dizzily, he remembered reading somewhere that most victims of house fires perished from smoke inhalation rather than burning to death. He felt like he was going to do both. The heat was insanely intense.

"We'll figure it out! Mario, please, I have to see my parents!" Daisy begged. "I just—I have to know!"

_You already know._ The thought came to Mario with such clarity that he was surprised to find he hadn't spoken aloud. She had said she had to see her parents—not "save," not "see if they were all right," but simply see. And she knew as well as Mario did that if he tried to toss her over the fire, there was a large chance she would fall into the fire and burn, and even if she didn't, there was no way back out. Either way…

"Please, Mario," Daisy pleaded, looking at him with clear, dry eyes. "Help me."

And he knew what she wanted help with, really.

He wrestled with his conscience. Did he have any right to insist she stay in this world that permitted such atrocities to happen? Her palace lay in smoldering ruins, her parents' mangled remains only a few feet away. He couldn't deny that sometimes he had considered throwing in the towel and calling it quits, and who was he to deny anyone that choice? He swallowed, placing his hands on her waist and looking her dead in the eyes.

"I'll reunite you with your parents," he told her roughly, giving her a final chance to change her mind and leave with him. Making the consequence of her choice clear and unambiguous.

Daisy relaxed into Mario's arms and managed a small smile. "Thank you," she sighed.

Mario lifted her, surprised by her lightness, and heaved her over the wall of fire. He could see the hem of her dress catch a spark as she went over, but the thud on the other side of the throne room confirmed that she had made it over alive, without falling into flames.

He heard Daisy shuffle across the floor, as if she was crawling and then suddenly stop.

"They're here," she said, her voice muffled.

Mario closed his eyes. Daisy had seen with her own eyes that her family truly was gone, eradicated from the earth except for her. He couldn't imagine the pain, the sorrow she must be feeling—

"They…they're in one piece," Daisy said, her voice colored with surprise. "They must've gotten lucky, and—" There was a pregnant pause, and then, Mario could hear the overjoyed smile in her voice as she exclaimed, "They're alive! They're both alive! Mario, are you still there? My parents are alive!"

Mario nearly fell down in shock. Both the king and queen had survived the blast? But how? Well, he reprimanded himself firmly, now was not the time for questions. After all, it seemed just as unlikely that he had survived, and yet here he was. Now was the time for action. He had to get the province royalty out of the throne room and out of the castle, which was threatening to choke them all at any second.

"Daisy," Mario coughed, "cover your parents' noses. I'm coming to get you."

He heard Daisy in the other room moving from one parent to the next, following his orders without question. He wondered how he would follow his own orders and retrieve her. There was no time to think of a plan, no time to get any kind of help. There was only one thing to do.

Mario charged into the fire, running through the flames. He screamed as soon as the searing heat touched his flesh. Fire rushed into the wounds on his back, which had finally begun to coagulate, reopening them with blistering savageness and exacerbating the pain. He emerged within seconds but the damage to his body had been done. Daisy yelped and rushed over to pat the flames out of Mario's skin and clothes. Mario fell to one knee, barely feeling her soothing hands through the waves of agony racking his body. His nerves were frayed, making every sensation feel like a new, horrible pain.

He forced himself to look over at where King Antonio and Queen Sophie were lying on the floor, their shirts pulled up over their noses. As much as he wanted to curl up and wallow in his pain, he knew he still had work to do. Getting into the room had only been half the battle, and the easier half at that. The question now was getting everyone out.

Mario struggled back to his feet and picked up Daisy, though she now seemed much heavier than before. "I'll throw you back over," he rasped in explanation, "and then your mother. Then I'll bring your father out."

"You're going to walk back through?" Daisy gasped, looking at him in concern.

His mouth quirked in what turned out to be a grimace but was supposed to be a smile. "No choice."

That said, he hoisted Daisy over the fire. She screamed as her leg was singed this time. His aim was not as precise as before. But he spent no time regretting that and instead picked up the unconscious Queen Sophie, sending her flying over the wall as well. He heard Daisy moving about on the other side as he supported King Antonio, bending a bit under the king's dead weight, and charging once more through the fire. He couldn't help crying out, his eyes watering from the sheer pain of his burns.

Daisy, carefully holding her mother with one arm, used the other hand to quickly pat out the fire both on Mario and her father. Because the bottom of her dress had been burnt off, the angry red welt on her leg was plainly visible, but she still managed to walk relatively quickly toward the exit. Mario, despite his burns, was not far behind her.

Soon they were past the corpses, outside the ruins, and breathing fresh air. Daisy stopped as they reached the two unconscious guards at the entrance, but Mario hurried on. "We can't help them," he told her impatiently. "They're safe there. Leave them."

"They're hurt," Daisy protested, not budging.

"Not as badly as we are," Mario pointed out. "Right now, your parents need immediate care. We'll go into the city and send some help back for them. Come on, time is of the essence here."

Regretfully, Daisy turned from the guards and followed Mario. They reunited with Toad, who was still holding an unconscious Luigi and started the walk to Arrow City, never looking behind them.


	9. Lifeline

Chapter Nine: Lifeline

"I guess things could be worse," Toad said, to break the silence. Mario noticed that the guard wasn't looking directly at him. It was ironic, really. He had just begun to get used to having scars at which people would either avoid looking or gawk, but now he had burns; burns were so much worse. At some parts he could actually see his skin bubbling. He was covered in blotches, some red and some dark. This sort of disfigurement was not something he'd be able to hide with long sleeves.

Daisy glanced at Luigi, who was still in Toad's arms. "I hope he wakes up soon."

Toad grinned down at the princess. "Then I'd feel like the odd one out, not carrying anybody."

Daisy's eyes flashed. "You wouldn't have to feel left out; you could take a turn carrying my dad. After all, you're not the one with the burnt arms," she snapped.

Toad's face was a perfect picture of wounded surprise. "Mario told me to stay put!"

"Well, you didn't have to listen!" she flung back, each word a perfectly-aimed poisonous projectile. "Since when did you become a passive player?"

"Daisy," Toad said, trying to smile and failing miserably, "you can't fault me for staying with Luigi."

Daisy looked away, biting her lip. "I'm sorry," she sighed. Her parents, Luigi, and their unrelenting insentience weighed heavily on her mind, filling her to the brim with worry.

Toad's valiant attempt at a smile faltered. "I'm sure everyone will be all right." He looked ahead. "We're almost there."

"We're not close enough," Mario snarled in frustration. He hadn't meant to become the portentous voice of doom, but he couldn't help the sense of helplessness overcoming him as he looked bleakly ahead at the hazy silhouettes of buildings, still so far away. Every step on the forest-bordered pathway, which seemed even longer now than it had the first time he'd walked it, felt heavier than the last, and the dark trees loomed on either side, oppressive and intimidating. The seemingly endless path back through the trees taunted him, and the faint lights of the city twinkled in the distance. "We won't make it to the hospital in time to save them. The king's heartbeat is already so weak." Mario couldn't deny it any more. Soon he was going to be carrying a corpse on his back.

"Don't say that! You're wrong!" Daisy cried. She tightened her grip on her mother as if the force of her will could make her parents hold on for just a bit longer, just the tiniest bit longer.

"Some people don't know when to quit," said Mario under his breath and then was struck with a sudden thought. _I might as well be referring to myself._

"We've come so far. Against all odds, my parents survived an explosion. You _burned_ to get them out of that place. What good would it do us to give up now?" Daisy challenged, and Mario considered.

If they left King Antonio and Queen Sophie on the side of the road now, they could get to town faster and get themselves patched up; then they could travel to Ernie's shop and grab the Mario car, which would surely be ready by now, and the search for the Princess could finally get underway.

He looked at the determined, stubborn look on Daisy's face and knew that there wasn't a chance they were leaving Antonio and Sophie behind, not until they took their last breaths. Even if Mario refused to carry Antonio another step and left him on the side of the road, Daisy would struggle to take both the king and the queen onto her own back and bear them the rest of the way. It was stupidity, but Mario understood the mentality. Even if logic told him that he needed to leave Luigi behind, he wouldn't. He couldn't.

Silence fell over them again, their tired feet hitting the ground in large slaps. Finally, they made it to the outskirts of Arrow City and right in the sights of rifles held by men in black suits and helmets, led, of course, by a grinning, triumphant Wario.

"You look awful, Mario, my boy," Wario said, barely concealing a smirk, holding up his own rifle and aiming for the middle of Mario's forehead. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you've run out of your little smoke and mirrors trick."

Mario sighed, Antonio growing heavier and heavier on his back. Fate just couldn't seem to cut him a break. Nothing was ever easy.

"You know, Mario," Wario continued, enjoying the feeling of finally having a completely helpless Mario Mario at his mercy, much the same as a cat might toy with a mouse who had given him quite a chase before consuming it, "you killed quite a few of my men. A wanted murderer, that's what you are. You might find that people see you differently. You're not a hero, and you'll be surprised by how fickle society can be. Popularity is fleeting. Too bad you won't be alive to see me hailed as the hero you once were, for bravely executing you before you could do any more damage. Unfortunately," he added, cocking his gun, "I was too late to save the province royalty from your dastardly murderous intentions."

Daisy tried to thrust her mother behind her, knowing it would make no difference, but still knowing she had to try. Mario had a flashback of trying to shield Luigi's body from the explosion and thought again, _How did we survive?_ It seemed a cruel quirk of destiny to allow them to survive so improbably a bomb explosion, only for them to die at the hands of Wario just as they were reaching the city.

Then, impossibly, there was a loud smack and one of the soldiers crumpled to the ground. Wario glanced over, distracted, and that was all Mario needed. He threw King Antonio to the ground and rushed at Wario, delivering a sound uppercut to his chin, then bringing his foot over the rifle in Wario's meaty hands and swinging it down, disarming the leader. Toad and Daisy cast down their limp charges and leapt to Mario's sides, ready to defend each other.

Wario sputtered, his face red with fury that he wouldn't be the one to personally implant the bullet in Mario's brain. "Shoot! Shoot to kill!" he ordered.

Obediently, the soldiers' rifles aimed at the trio.

"I don't think so," said a husky voice, and the same person who had created Wario's distraction now flicked a whip which stretched across the soldiers' hands, expertly curling the tip around the gun of the furthest soldier and then yanking it down the row to knock the guns from the other soldiers' hands.

More disarmed enemies, and more distraction. Mario didn't waste any time thanking his savior. He just trusted that providence might just be looking out for him after all. He lunged at the men who still had guns, carefully remaining a moving target and keeping out of the way of the rifles' sights.

Daisy had wrestled herself onto the back of one of the men and was digging into his sides with her high-heeled shoes. Toad, trained for close combat, punched stone-like fists through the visors of the helmeted men, delivering devastating and unexpected blows to faces the soldiers had assumed were fully protected and thus were off their guards in terms of defense.

As if to confirm Mario's newfound optimism, Luigi groaned and finally woke up. "Mario?" he said foggily, and then, his eyes focusing, he leapt to his feet. He caught sight of Mario and his eyes widened. "Mario…your face…" But Mario ignored him, entirely too occupied to discuss what had happened. Luigi turned, and his eyes met the enraged ones of Wario. "Wario!" he exclaimed, gulping as Wario, who had picked up a gun again, aimed at him.

The whip-wielding warrior launched a flying kick into Wario's face, and Wario staggered back, the gun clattering to the earth again.

"Thanks," said Luigi automatically, and then he looked closer. "Oh! It's you!"

There was no time for explanations or introductions. Luigi joined the fray, mostly holding men back from taking swings at his friends. He wasn't a fantastic fight strategist, but he did possess brute strength, which made him excellent defense to counter the others' offense.

As soon as all the soldiers were unconscious and piled on a heap—with Wario on the bottom—Toad grabbed Antonio and Mario picked up Sophie, and they started heading into town. Daisy and Luigi weren't far behind. Once they were finally on their way, Mario took the time to look at their unexpected savior.

She had large dark eyes, long dark hair, and tan skin. She seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on who she was—until she unleashed her dazzling smile on him, and then he remembered where he had seen her before.

She was the woman who had propositioned Luigi in the party district of Arrow City. He hadn't recognized her without her heavy makeup and garish outfit. Her hair fell, loose and tangled and wild, to her hips and she wore a simple black tank top and leather pants.

Mario stared at her, a million questions running through his head, but he decided to ask the first pertinent one that came to mind. "Who are you?"

She easily kept step with Mario's hurried pace and told him, "The name's Lina. Rosa Lina. And you'll never make it to the hospital, if that's where you're headed."

"And what other choice do we have?" Mario countered, not even breaking pace.

"I can take you to a healer who's a lot closer, and who'll ask fewer questions, and who can keep you off Wario's radar," Rosa said, and turned down another road, as if she knew that Mario wouldn't need any more convincing than that. She didn't even turn around to check that they were following.

They stood, looking after her, torn.

"How do we know we can trust her?" Toad asked, watching her turn a corner.

"She _did_ just save our lives," pointed out Luigi. "What's not to trust?"

"And," added Daisy, looking worriedly down at her mother's slack face in Mario's arms, "we don't really have much of a choice."

With that, the group hurried to catch up to Rosa Lina, who was navigating backstreets and suspicious-looking alleyways with ease and unsettling familiarity.

Finally, she knocked on a decrepit door with a structure that appeared to be little more than a bunch of badly-sawed planks affixed tenuously together despite clear incompatibility. Mario's first impulse was to reach out and steady the little door, which trembled on its hinges as if a bit more pressure applied in just the right place would send it toppling. But it seemed that the door had a sturdier foundation than was readily apparent to the eye, for the door kept standing, not tall and majestic, but still, not without some pride of its own.

"If you're with the clergy or tax collection, then you know the drill. You'll get what's coming to you when I'm good and ready to give it to you, so paying me any calls is a waste of time," grunted a no-nonsense, crisp voice.

Despite himself, Mario found himself with a small smile on his face. This was reminiscent of the neighborhood in which he had grown up. Of course, he would like to think that he had progressed and left the dark, gritty world of the underground far behind him, and yet, he had the same sense of homecoming here as he had had in the garage. He began to relax, until he remembered exactly how the excursion to the royal garage had ended. Perhaps, in cases of nostalgia, it was better _not_ to trust one's instincts and to fully allow training to take over. He remained on his guard as Rosa explained who she was.

The door opened a crack, revealing a sharp blue eye and a contrasting gray beard. A stooped, elderly man with a full head of gray opened the door a little at a time, peering out at them suspiciously. A smile broke out on his face when he was convinced that it truly was Rosa, but then he looked over her shoulder at her followers, and his face froze.

"Rosa?" he said uncertainly, his features almost comically battling between etiquette and fear.

"Sir," Daisy said, stepping forward and somehow managing to create a stately imperious air despite her bedraggled appearance. "I am Daisy, princess of the Arrow City province. My family and I require your help. Miss…Lina here said that you could help us? If you can, rest assured, you will be rewarded handsomely."

Etiquette won out on the man's features and he said, "Of course, of course," with a little bow, and ushered them into the close, dingy little house. "Call me Polari. And who will I be attending to today…?" he prompted apologetically, looking over all of his guests who each appeared to need medical attention.

"These two first, please," Daisy said, gesturing to her parents, and without prompting Toad silently took King Antonio and Queen Sophie in his arms. He carried them into the room in the back Polari led him to, Daisy following closely.

When Luigi and Mario were left with Rosa, Mario spoke first. "Now would be a great time for you to start talking," he said bluntly.

Rosa played the innocent hostess. "Can I get you anything to drink?" She actually crossed the living room and walked to the refrigerator in the attached kitchen, studying the contents within. "We've got…beer, beer, and…more beer." She shut the refrigerator, making a face of disgust and leaned her elbows on the counter, facing the brothers again. "On second thought, I'm not sure that'd be very beneficial to you with those injuries." She tsked over Mario's face. "It's too bad. You two are much worse for the wear now than last time I saw you."

Mario refused to be distracted. "You wanna explain how you know how to fight like that?"

"Yeah, what you did back there was incredible!" Luigi said enthusiastically, but not without a longing glance at the refrigerator—a glance that Rosa adeptly ignored.

Rosa shrugged. "In my line of work, a girl needs to know how to defend herself."

Mario knew that the world Rosa inhabited was rife with its own dangers. It was very much a primitive dog-eats-dog mindset, and he could readily believe that she had learned to fight out of necessity. But the style with which she fought had been so informed and trained, fluid like a dance. Street fighters, on the other hand, usually fought with short, rapid bursts of force, trying to capitalize on the weaknesses of their opponents and frequently playing dirty if those weaknesses weren't readily apparent.

And of course, there was the more begging question: "Well, I understand that you have to look out for yourself," Mario said, "but why come to our aid? You don't know us. You don't owe us anything."

Luigi pushed back from the counter, bored of the interrogative conversation. "I don't see why you always have to look a gift horse in the mouth," he told Mario, taking a look at the pictures on Polari's wall. They depicted grotesque, dark scenarios of demons rising from pits and preying on helpless victims. "Well…" he muttered. "How…artistic."

"Don't change the subject, Luigi," Mario snapped.

"You're not my father, Mario," Luigi snapped back.

"Well, I might as well be!" Mario glared, daring Luigi to continue this line of debate, but Luigi refused to even look at him. Apparently, monsters devouring babies was a sight more pleasant than his brother. Mario threw up his hands and stormed into the room Polari, Daisy, and Toad had entered.

Rosa tilted her head, watching Luigi as his shoulders slumped and he sank into a chair. She kept quiet, waiting for him to speak, and soon he did.

"You know, Rosa, it was lucky for us that you came along when you did," he finally said and smiled at her. "I think Mario's just not used to luck, so when he gets it, he has to question it."

Rosa sat down across from Luigi. "I understand that. I find it hard to trust kindnesses from strangers too." She spread her hands helplessly. "What can I say? I was in the neighborhood, saw some faces I recognized, and thought I could help. I never forget a face." She winked saucily. "And I like yours."

Luigi blushed and made an unconscious, imperceptible shift back into his chair. Rosa sensed his discomfort and backed off, thinking that he was one of the more unusual men she had met—and she had made the acquaintance of plenty. She switched to a subject that seemed more up his alley.

Jerking a thumb behind her to indicate Polari's abnormal taste in interior decoration, she said, "Those paintings are supposed to tell a story. The Frenan side of the Dragon argument." Encouraged by the spark of interest that had lit up in Luigi's eyes, she continued. "Polari's always been on the Frenan side of the war. He thought that all Dragons should be eliminated."

"Because they'll eat your children and seduce your women and torture your men?" Luigi said wryly, glancing over all the horrifying scenarios depicted in the pictures with an air of amused skepticism.

"Scoff if you'd like, but the fact is that none of us were around to see what really started the war," Rosa said. "For all we know, the Dragons _were_ doing terrible things and brought what happened on themselves."

"You mean genocide? Extinction? Do you honestly think that they deserved it all?" Luigi gaped at her. "Listen, I may not have actually been there, but I know human nature well enough to reasonably discern what happened. Dragons were stronger than humans and humans fired themselves up with imagining what the Dragons _could_ do to them and what they were _capable_ of. And since they couldn't deal with the fact that they weren't the highest creatures on the planet, they destroyed an entire species of noble, majestic, peaceful _people._"

Rosa watched the younger Mario with interest. When speaking of these long-dead historical happenings, around which there would always remain a shroud of mystery and controversy, Luigi seemed so sure of himself. His defense of the Dragons was animated to the point of passion. Yes, _passion, _her specialty. Legends, old tales, and whispers of undeserved oppression and slaughter had incited passion in this man in a way that her wiles and innuendos had not. A specimen of man like that in this day and age was rare, confusing…intriguing.

Luigi smiled at her with the suddenness of a sunbeam bursting through the clouds at the end of an overcast day. "Anyway, I know Princess Peach, who is the closest we can get nowadays to a Dragon, and if her temperament is any indication, there's no one less likely to harm someone than a Dragon."

Rosa looked away. "She's probably dead, you know. If she isn't willing to hurt anyone."

Luigi's eyes widened. He was momentarily stunned by the throwaway bluntness of her statement, but then he smiled again, gently. "I doubt it. The Princess is stronger than you might think. Somehow, even though she has so many enemies, she always makes it through. Mario and me too. Things get bad, but I have hope that everything will work out."

"How?" she snapped, knowing that she was getting too personally invested in this conversation, knowing that she was no longer talking about Peach, but unable to stop herself. "If life keeps knocking you down, maybe it's trying to tell you something. Maybe some people were meant to _stay_ down and learn to stop defying fate and stop standing back up again."

"Stay down?" Luigi echoed uncomprehendingly. "You mean give up?" He shrugged, honestly bewildered. "The option never even occurred to me. How can we stop fighting when there are still worthy battles to take part in?" He paused and then added, "And my brother will always take care of me, no matter what. He won't let anything happen to me. He never gives up, so the least I can do is stay behind him a hundred percent."

Rosa kept her eyes on the ground. "Well, you're lucky then. Not all of us have a person who'll never give up on us."

She felt a slight pressure on the cushion and looked over to see that Luigi had crossed over and taken a seat beside her on the sofa. She felt a bit unnerved by the way he stared at her intently, giving her his full, undivided attention. It gave her the odd feeling of being put on the spot, stripped of her defenses and seen with clear, unbiased eyes. She was used to the bawdy, coarse men in her club undressing her with their eyes, but Luigi seemed to gaze directly into her spirit, mentally searching past her exterior and exploring the person she was beneath.

"What?" she breathed, forgetting for a moment that she was the tough, worldly Rosa Lina and knowing that for some reason, this strange man, whom she had only just met but already could tell was different from anyone else she knew—for some reason, he found _her_ fascinating.

"I can't figure it out," Luigi said, still holding her in place with his piercing gaze.

"What?" she asked again.

"You seem so smart, so strong." Luigi looked puzzled. "Why did you go into…your area of business?"

It was a kind euphemism, but the discomfort on Luigi's face was hard to miss and Rosa laughed at him harshly, the spell broken. She straightened up and her eyes shifted away from his. "No other options. My good-for-nothing parents left me penniless." A bitter sneer distorted her pretty face. "In this world, people do desperate things for money."

Luigi opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by his name being called.

"Luigi!" Mario's voice rang out loud and clear from the back room. "Come on! Polari's going to take a look at your injuries now."

Luigi looked helplessly at Rosa, who smiled and nodded toward the door, sweeping her arm toward it to get him moving. He smiled back, tipped his green fedora, and turned to heed his brother's call. And fell heavily to the floor as a tiny dart pierced his back with a sting, releasing a potent toxin into his bloodstream.


	10. Breathe

Chapter Ten: Breathe

Ashley's mahogany-colored eyes flitted back and forth as she watched a certain redhead almost literally bounce off the walls. Mona looked physically incapable of standing still for more than two seconds…not that that was anything spectacularly out of the ordinary. Ashley sighed, brushing out her hair and preparing to tie it into its customary twin buns.

"Mona, I think you're scaring Frenchy," she said tonelessly, pointing her brush at the black cat in the corner who was watching Mona with wide luminescent eyes.

Mona squealed in dismay, rushing to the feline and taking the warm, soft little body in her arms. "Sorry, pretty kitty," she cooed, kissing Frenchy's forehead. For her pains, Frenchy rewarded Mona with a hiss and a swipe of her claws. Mona yelped and let the cat go, watching as she skulked to Ashley's side and sat still, continuing to watch Mona, only moving her tail back and forth like a pendulum.

"I'm bored," Mona announced plaintively and petulantly, looking hopefully at Ashley, but the younger girl didn't even glance up.

After a moment, though, Ashley sighed, "Then why don't you go find something to entertain you?"

Mona perked up, encouraged by Ashley's lapse in utterly ignoring her. "We could go swimming, or—"

"I said _you_ find something to do," Ashley cut in, finishing with her hair and picking up the Gothic horror novel beside her, flipping to the bookmark. "Not dragging me along with you."

Mona crossed her arms. "You're a _kid,_ Ashley. You're supposed to enjoy having fun!"

Ashley turned a page. "To me, this _is_ fun. My idea of a good time involves _peace and quiet_." The pointed meaning of those words was unmistakable and final.

Mona twiddled with the necklace she was wearing, disappointed and miserable because of her boredom, but all of a sudden she brightened, struck by inspiration. She stole out of that quiet room, noticed by none but the cat, whose unblinking eyes followed her tiptoed path. She smiled broadly as she entered her room and sunshine warmed her face. As always, the curtains were thrust open, and Mona admired what a beautiful day it was.

"Hey, there," she whispered, crossing to the window and looking out at the two eggs in the nest on the branch of the tree that stood just outside her window. She was good friends with the two adult birds, to the point where they sometimes left the nest, trusting that she would keep a protective eye on the eggs. She supposed that the fledgling birds would make their debut soon; she had first noticed the eggs nearly two weeks ago. She couldn't wait to welcome the babies into the world. "I wonder why humans can't survive to see their children like birds can," she mused aloud, with a touch of sadness. Birth and creation were such miracles; she felt a delicious stirring in her chest every time she saw those eggs. How much more beautiful would it be if she could have a child of her own…and be there to cherish, nurture, and protect that child?

She shook off melancholy longings as the adult birds came fluttering back to their nests, twittering in greeting. Mona waved, grinning, as the female settled herself carefully over the eggs and the male stood in front of the nest, little claws digging into the branch, protective and familiarly masculine.

Shifting her eyes downward, Mona couldn't help but look for a familiar presence as she stood at the window, but the driveway remained empty. She felt her stomach clench in automatic worry at this reminder of how long Wari had been gone, but then she shook her head and told herself she was being silly. She got like this _every_ time Wario left for extended periods of time, and _every_ time, Wario came back safe and sound—maybe a bit disgruntled and short of temper, but that was to be expected from Wario.

Still, the tiny voice of paranoia in the back of her mind whispered, what if _this_ was the time that his luck ran out? She'd reason with herself, convince herself that there was nothing to worry about, let her emotional guard down—and then be met with the devastating news that she had lost him. What would she do if this time he didn't come home?

Once again, she had to force herself out of this uncharacteristically gloomy trail of thought. This was what happened to her when she stayed unoccupied for too long. With that thought in mind, she turned from the window and gathered her artistic supplies, the real reason she had come to her room, and then reentered the drawing room, where Ashley still sat crosslegged on the floor, book in hand, and Frenchy still perched beside her.

Mona set up her easel, tacked up a blank cloth canvas, and tied on her apron. Happiness was bubbling up inside her as she filled with the anticipation that this routine of preparation always gave her. Soon she would be inundated in smooth strokes and splashes of color, and for a while, the world would not center around worries and yearnings, but around bringing the plain canvas to brilliant life. And she had a perfect model; judging by the thickness of Ashley's book, she would be in the same position for a while, and even the cat was as still as a statue. Mona mixed her paints, finding the perfect colors to bring her vision to life, and then she dipped her paintbrush into the paint.

Once, out of curiosity, Ashley glanced up to see what had finally occupied Mona. She raised an eyebrow, realizing that she had become an unwitting model for the redhead's devices, but then she shrugged, returning to what she considered her more psychologically-stimulating task. Let Mona have her arts and crafts. At least this pastime didn't require her making noise.

Ashley was just reaching the climax of her novel and Mona had putting the finishing touches on the little likeness of Ashley on her canvas when the front door opened and Wario came trudging in, face rigid and eyes ablaze.

Mona looked up and immediately beamed. "Welcome back!"

Wario ignored her, his gaze zeroing in on Frenchy. He scowled. "Ashley, how many times have I told you to keep that mangy, flea-bitten, creepy cat out of my sight?"

"Enough times for you to realize that I have no regard for such a stupid rule," Ashley drawled, and Frenchy mewed softly as if to affirm Ashley's words.

"Whatever." Wario's shoulders suddenly sagged, the intimidating posture leaving his body to be replaced with weariness. Mona smiled at him soothingly and walked over to him, placing his beefy arm around her thin shoulders and helping him to his favorite armchair. "Oops, careful," she said, remembering too late that her hands were covered in paint. Her cheeks turned pink as she looked at the big bright stain her hand had left on his shirt. "I'm sorry, Wari….I'll go get some stain remover—"

He laid his hand on her arm, stopping her in mid-trot. She looked back, puzzled, at his bowed head. "It's all right. Don't worry about it."

She wiped her hands off on her apron as best as she could and then knelt down in front of him, taking his chin in both her hands and tilting his face up to hers. Examining his red eyes and haggard disposition in concern, she asked, "Are you hungry? Because I was just thinking of taking a break from painting and cooking up a delicious beef stew. How about it?"

Wario took her hands in his, smiling a bit in spite of himself. "You and I both know that when you start a painting, taking a break never even crosses your mind. You were planning no such thing."

Mona chuckled. He had her there. "You know me too well," she said, pleased. "So maybe I wasn't _planning_ on cooking, but come on, you look like you could use a nice, hot meal right about now. And then I could draw you a bath…" Her voice trailed off and she blushed, tracing the lines of his palm absently with her fingers.

Ashley slammed her book closed and deliberately stomped out of the room, Frenchy loyally stalking after her.

Mona turned and called after her, "Do you want any beef stew?"

"I'm not hungry," came her reedy, expressionless voice from down the hall, just before the sound of a door slamming decisively shut.

"Oh dear." Mona sighed and straightened up, starting after the girl, but again Wario stopped her.

"Let her have some time to herself. She's been through a lot recently, and your presence, at times, can be…overbearing. Maybe she needs some time away from you," he said. He had never claimed to be the most tactful person alive, but his clear-headed honesty sank through her consciousness, and she had to acknowledge that he might just be correct.

"I suppose," Mona said reluctantly, but she still stared after Ashley, obviously torn. Wario reached out and gently turned her face back to him.

He caressed her troubled face, knowing she was acting out of love, but Ashley was like a wild, exotic flower. All the forces working to keep a flower alive—the sun's rays shining overhead but never coming too close, lest they burn it, the rain quietly soaking into its roots but never bearing down too heavily lest they drench and weigh down the easily-bruised petals and snap the delicate stem, and the gardener who must keep tabs on the flower and prevent strangling weeds from rising around it and choking it, but never hover for too long, lest she cast her shadow over the flower and block out the sun it needs—all these forces nurtured the flower but knew they needed to give their product space to grow. Mona tried to be the sun, the rain, and the gardener, but if she wasn't careful, Wario knew she would unintentionally take the role of the weeds.

Mona, realizing that there was nothing to be done for Ashley at the moment, walked behind Wario and started to knead his shoulders in a massage. Even though Wario sighed in appreciation and began to relax, Mona was aghast at the knots and tension that had built up over the course of just a few days.

"Are you sure you don't need anything? A beer maybe?" Mona asked, marveling at the stress she could feel physically gathered in his muscles. "It looks like you need one."

"Just—just stay," Wario said, forgetting his usual gruffness in his weariness. "What I need right now is you."

Mona's eyes widened, shocked by his words, but then she blushed and began to massage his shoulders once again. "I just need to know—why are you so stressed out?"

The answer came, quick and harsh. "Marios," he spat, as if the word was poison on his tongue, and Mona clicked her tongue in sympathy. "I swear, they're like cockroaches," he continued, starting to rant. "No matter how many times you stomp on them, they just spring right back up again, hale and hearty! They're driving me ragged!"

Mona was quiet for a moment, and then, hesitatingly, she began, "I hate to say it, but maybe you should call it quits on the Marios. I mean, with the Princess gone, how much harm can they possibly do?"

"Plenty," snarled Wario, wrenching his shoulder from Mona's probing hands. "And I can't believe you seriously just suggested I quit! Do you know how much thought and work I've put into this?"

"Wario…" said Mona softly, closing her eyes for a moment and then opening them and reaching out a hand to place gently on his shoulder. "I just don't want to lose you. That's all."

Wario looked at her, irritated, and stood up, crossing the room with his hands behind his back. "I wish you'd have a little more faith in me than that."

Mona hurried to his side, stepping on her paint in the process, but she paid the colorful trail of footprints behind her no heed. "I _do,_ Wari. But these are the Marios we're talking about, the very same men who seduced the Royal Family into cultivating Princess Peach's power into a weapon of mass destruction."

"I _know_ that," Wario said roughly, not turning to meet her earnest blue eyes.

"Can't we just tell somebody, Wari?" Mona pleaded. "It makes me sick how everyone thinks they're heroes, when underneath everyone's noses, they're planning to seize control of all the provinces! They're dangerous, and you're brave to take them on on your own, but…why? Why can't we inform people, and get help? Why does it have to be secret?"

Finally Wario looked at her, but not without exasperation. "We've been over this. Until I get adequate proof exposing those Marios for the treacherous, power-hungry men that they are, no one would believe me. They're too enamored with the heroic image they have now. No, it's best I work alone to take them down."

Mona swallowed hard and looked down at her feet, cursing the Marios with every ounce of energy inside her body. The most insidious disease was one you mistook for the cure. Like a benevolent poison or a hypnotic serpent, the Marios smiled so charmingly that one didn't notice them killing slowly.

The Marios certainly didn't look like depraved, diabolical masterminds. Mario, the eldest, had dark hair and eyes, and just enough facial hair to look mature and rugged but youthful and freshfaced. His trademark black fedora always donned his head tilted just so, crooked, but deliberately so. His younger brother, tall, sandy-haired, with a boyish grin and a green fedora to match his brother's, lacked the polished finesse of Mario but made up for it with an air of idealism and innocence. Each brother completed the other, making them, together, a force to be reckoned with, particularly in matters of public relations. They had faces which looked trustworthy and bearings that were difficult to see in any way short of heroic.

In fact, Mona considered, Wario's appearance fit the classic, clear-cut villain archetype better than the Marios' did. With his bulky, heavyset frame, small, piggy, green eyes, and thick mustache, he would sooner be accused of being in the wrong than the winsome Marios in this shallow society. But Mona knew better. She trusted Wario and his discovery of the Marios' deception, for she knew how kind and gentle Wario could be, how brave and noble and sacrificing. She knew the strength of his heart, and if he believed he had to launch his attack to defend the world alone, she had faith in him.

She smiled. "You just sit down and relax, okay? I'll go fix that stew." She whistled as she bustled into the kitchen, hearing with satisfaction the sound of the armchair creaking as Wario settled into it. _It's about time that man stopped arguing with me,_ she thought cheerfully, and then, _I really am_ _the luckiest woman alive. Not everyone can say they know someone who is secretly trying to save the world; he does it in secret, on the sidelines, in the shadows, demanding neither the credit nor the fame he deserves—unlike that attention glutton Mario Mario… and that brother of his._

Mona glanced behind her shoulder, gazing fondly at Wario as he stretched his legs and relaxed into the back of the armchair. _I wish I could be so brave._


	11. Genesis: First Half of Arc Finale

Chapter Eleven, Part One: Genesis

"Luigi?"

The seconds of silence were all Mario needed to be pushed into panic mode. He pushed counters of beakers and bottles out of the way, paying no attention as they clashed to the ground behind him. Polari let out a sharp cry of outrage and Daisy and Toad were calling his name, but he could barely hear all that above the blood rushing in his ears.

Paranoia? Maybe. Overreaction? Possibly. But many a time, paranoia of the tiniest sound or shadow had saved the fighter's life, and considering all the trials they had just gone through and the simple detail that they were, in fact, the Marios, Mario didn't feel that his fear was unwarranted.

He rushed into the main room to find Rosa groaning and struggling to her feet, bent unnaturally over the broken coffee table and Luigi face down just a few yards from her. Swearing under his breath, he wished that just for once his fighter's instincts had turned out dead wrong. He scanned the room, noting that the front door was gaping and ajar and had been splintered as if kicked in with a heavy boot. But whoever had attacked the two had not stuck around. After this assessment, he ran to his brother's side, inspecting him. Immediately, he noticed a small feathered shaft jutting from Luigi's back.

Rosa coughed. "It was an ambush….I was taken by surprise….I didn't get a good look at his face…"

Mario was relieved that the projectile did not appear to have pierced deep or injured anything life-threatening. After the initial shock, he found he was more annoyed than anything else. Had this tiny dart really been enough to fell and knock out Luigi? It had definitely been a mistake to ask Luigi for help; he would have been better off on his own.

Help? Hah! Some help Luigi had been. Their journey had lasted barely two days so far and Luigi had spent most of it unconscious.

Disgusted, Mario began to pull the shaft out of Luigi's body, just as Polari, Toad, and Daisy came out of the healing room to see what the commotion was all about.

"Oh no, Luigi!" cried Daisy, hastening to Luigi's side and laying a hand on his back.

"Don't worry," Mario said evenly, yanking the fletching of the dart. "It's nothing."

"Be careful!" Daisy winced, biting down on her knuckle as she watched the point begin to tear through Luigi's tender flesh.

"Rosa, what happened?" Polari demanded, grasping his hair in consternation as he looked from Luigi to the broken door and destroyed table.

"Ambush," she repeated breathlessly, scowling at how weak she looked in front of everyone. "They knocked me into the table and then shot Luigi. Said something about…one down, one to go?" Toad glanced at her sharply, but she had put her hand to her head, apparently exhausted. "Or something like that."

Mario finally succeeded in extracting the dart, although the barbed hook had taken quite a bit of Luigi's flesh with it. Daisy tore off a strip of her dress—it was so tattered by now that another rip hardly made much of a difference—and pressed it to the wound, admittedly shallow but still gruesome.

"Poor Luigi," she said quietly, sympathy keen in her voice.

Mario, on the other hand, was shaking in anger at his brother's weakness. The time they spent worrying over Luigi was time wasted that they otherwise could have spent on recovering and finally making progress on searching for Peach. At this rate, they'd never find her. Luigi was not supposed to be a setback to his goals, but an advantage benefiting him. He turned the little dart over in his hands, not noticing that Toad had turned stock still and rigid until Daisy asked, "Toad? What's wrong?"

Without a word, Toad snatched the dart from Mario's hands and examined it closely. Then he sniffed it. Mario, hardened as he was, felt sickened by the way Toad was handling the weapon, wet, red, and glistening from his brother's blood.

Suddenly Toad's face grew darkly morose and he looked at Mario with an expression that was awfully close to pity. Mario had a knee-jerk reaction to that look being directed his way and his stomach clenched automatically.

"What is it?" he asked Toad, the color draining from his face as he looked again down at Luigi, and suddenly the situation seemed less of a nuisance and more of a dire circumstance. Suddenly he noticed how unnaturally still Luigi was, how shallow his breath. Suddenly the wound on his back seemed like a gaping, monstrous hole rather than a reasonably benign scratch. He swallowed, knowing what Toad would say before the first words were uttered.

"There's a poison on this dart, Mario, a very strong one. I was trained to catch the smell….It's a very fast-acting venom; no matter how small that wound might be, only a drop into his bloodstream would be enough, and this dart was veritably _slathered_ with the stuff. I'm sorry, but it's a miracle he's still breathing now…"

The words continued to assail him, but time seemed to stand still for the elder Mario as he held his dying brother in his arms. Two days. Two days was all the time it had taken for Mario to destroy his brother's life. He bitterly recalled how, only moments ago, he had been cursing his brother's weakness, condemning him as a liability. But now he remembered how Luigi had always stuck by his side, no matter how frightened he became or how useless he feared he would be. Despite their years of separation, Luigi had joined Mario on a quest that had seemed hopeless and perilous from the start. He had sacrificed his peace of mind, security, and even his dream—the motor shop—all for Mario. He had stood on the sidelines while Mario gathered glory and fame, happy to play the sidekick and be the less flashy defense to Mario's stunning offense. He had stayed in Mario's shadow in nearly every aspect of his life and not once had he complained.

But he had started to draw away from the life of adventure and political warring, making a name for himself outside of Mario. He had started a peaceful life, running the motor shop—and then Mario had returned and wrapped him up in those adventures once more. And for what? Mario's own selfish desire to rekindle what used to be, but what was long dead. He had put Luigi in danger, _because he was afraid of being alone._ He had been fine dumping Luigi when he had Peach, but now that Peach was gone, he had filled the void with his brother, just as a temporary replacement until he found Peach and could once again cast his brother aside.

Mario felt his entire body go cold with sorrow and self-loathing. He had known that Luigi wasn't a fighter, but he had sought him out on this quest anyway. And now he had killed him. He, Mario, he had killed Luigi. It might as well have been his hands shooting the dart into his brother's back because he had killed him all the same.

It was all his fault, all his fault.

Already, he could feel Luigi's heartbeats slowing and he held Luigi's body close to him, trying in vain to share his body heat with Luigi's stiffening limbs, growing colder and colder to the touch by the second.

A miracle, Toad had said. It was a miracle that Luigi had hung on this long. Mario wondered if there was any part of Luigi that was conscious, if he really _was_ holding on, even though it must be so very cold, and so very dark, and so very silent, and so very _alone…_ How could Mario have ever thought that his little brother wasn't brave? Hanging on any longer than necessary was possibly the bravest thing anyone had ever done. _Thank you, little brother,_ he thought, and then, he did the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life. He let go. _You can go now; you don't have to hang on for me anymore. I'll be okay._ Too late, the horrible thought occurred to him that even now, even for _this,_ he was granting Luigi permission. He felt sick.

The word "miracle" echoed through his mind again. He remembered his parents' remarkable survival; the priest had loudly proclaimed that that was indeed a miracle, proof of God's overwhelming love and mercy, and Mario had felt important, protected, loved. His parents had lived, even though no other parents did. He had grown to know his mother's laughing, chocolate-brown eyes that lit up whenever she saw him and her bouncy, matching curls that she let him play with. He had admired his father's deep, teasing voice, those strong, gentle hands that frequently lifted him off the ground, and that shock of straw-colored hair that he would shake like a dog when it was wet, often sprinkling a shrieking, laughing Mario.

Yes, God had looked kindly on Mario's family and Mario's family alone, for while other parents took their last breaths as their children took their first, and the other kids were assigned to some random, unrelated couple, Mario got to keep both his parents. Perhaps he had even begun to believe, sacrilegious and arrogant though the childish thought might have been, that God simply loved him _better_ than all the other children.

And then, when Mario was five years old, his parents began to have deep, serious conversations. Most of the time they were muttered behind closed doors, just outside Mario's earshot, but once in a while he did pick up snippets: _"try again," "second chance," "baby."_ One day, his parents had sat him down, and Mario had been certain he was about to get the scolding of his life, certain that he had finally been caught surreptitiously throwing out his vegetables, but no punishment came. Only hesitant eagerness and muted joy and careful assurances.

They had been seeing several physicians and scientists…specialists, they said. People who had been tracking their case since day one—the day of Mario's birth. There were a few naysayers who predicted that the strain of a second child would topple whatever tenuous quirk had allowed them to defy nature and that nature would ravage them with a vengeance should they try to press their chances with a second shot, but most predicted favorably. Since it seemed that they could help further the population, didn't they owe it to the world? And anyway, they would love another child to care for, and wouldn't he love to have a little brother or sister?

Mario was so relieved that he hadn't been found out that he agreed more or less without thinking about it, and his mind was already wandering to cartoons he wanted to watch by the time his father began to seriously speak to him about the possibility that they might not come back. But of _course_ they would come back, Mario thought dismissively. They had God on their side, after all.

As an adult looking back on that moment, Mario had no doubt that had he adamantly refused, his parents would have heeded his wishes, and they would still be alive. Luigi wouldn't have lived at all, but then again, at least he wouldn't have existed, only for Mario to kill him. But his thoughtlessness and overconfidence had cost his parents' their lives.

In fact, just a few days before his mother had gone into labor, she and his father had called him over again. They looked ragged and gaunt. The color had gone from his mother's lips and the sparkle had left his father's eyes; they looked as if their bodies were getting ready to shut down. They looked like _other kids'_ parents right before a baby was delivered, but Mario knew that they were just feeling a bit under the weather and would soon bounce right back into good health.

That's why he thought it was so silly when they told him to remember that they loved him no matter what, and to always remember them happy and healthy, and to love his new little sibling even if—

Even if…what? he had asked, rolling his eyes. Don't be ridiculous. You'll be fine, and can I go back to playing now?

Then the day came. His mother's water broke, and in Arrow City General she delivered a strong, healthy baby boy before her heart gave out. Her husband succumbed to the illness and joined his wife in death shortly thereafter.

Luigi was born on the same day that Mario stopped believing in God.

But now, in the present day, Mario looked down at Luigi and begged anyone who was listening for another miracle. He knew he didn't deserve one, but please…please…

Desperation overtook him and he did something that his logical brain knew would be totally ineffective against the poison coursing through the younger Mario's veins, but he did it anyway.

_Please, God. I'm sorry I ever doubted You. I know You work in mysterious ways. You allowed me time with my parents, and I thank You so much for that, but then You had to take them back. But in their place You gave me another little miracle—Luigi—who is better than I could have ever dreamed. I trust You, but please, God, he's just a kid. Please don't take him yet. If You have to take someone, take me, I beg You._

Feeling like an idiot, Mario sighed, frustrated that there was nothing he could do to actually save Luigi.

And then, unbelievably, Luigi's flesh grew warm again in Mario's arms. His heartbeat strengthened and picked up its sluggish pace.

"Luigi?" Mario asked, his voice trembling with emotion. He was quiet, as if his voice could break the spell. He leaned over Luigi, watching his face for any sign of life, hardly daring to believe what was happening. But his hopes were skyrocketing, despite his logical attempts to temper them lest they be dashed.

Luigi's nose twitched and then his eyes fluttered open. "M-Mario?" he moaned. Then he turned his face toward the floor and threw up.


	12. Revelations: Second Half of Arc Finale

Chapter Eleven, Part Two: Revelations

In the deafening silence that followed, the clatter of the dart sounded as loud as a gunshot as it fell from Toad's hand. Not even one head turned to acknowledge the noise, though. Every eye was trained on Luigi, who was wiping his mouth, self-conscious because of the stares.

"You know," he said, bewildered, "you guys really don't have to watch me while I'm sick. It's not a pretty sight."

Finally, Rosa spoke, seemingly unable to take her eyes off of Luigi. "You—you're alive," she gasped. Her features were still mostly frozen in dismay, but happiness was starting to trickle in, delayed by shock and disbelief.

"Yeah. Disappointed?" he teased, but didn't look expectantly toward her for an answer. He straightened up and extricated himself from Mario. He swiveled his arms and rolled his ankles, testing out his limbs to be sure they were fully functional. Still not entirely sure why everyone was acting so thunderstruck, he chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I had quite a fall, didn't I, Rosa?" He looked around, trying to locate the culprit of his fall. "Huh. Well, my shoes aren't untied, and it doesn't look like there's anything around here that I could have tripped on. That's me for you; looks like I managed to trip on nothing at all."

"Luigi! You're all right!" Daisy ignored his awkwardness and the absurdity of what he was saying. She was just glad to have him around for another day, and she proved it with a warm hug around his midsection.

The breath was knocked out of Luigi with this surprise embrace, but he patted the princess's hand. "Thanks, Princess," he wheezed with a pained smile, "but you know, you could squeeze a little gentler."

"That's right," Mario said, teasing the enthusiastic princess. "You don't want to break him. He's got a delicate makeup. I swear, it's like those are chicken bones in there." He landed a mock punch on Luigi's arm, not even heeding Daisy sticking out her tongue or Luigi's protests. He actually laughed aloud in utter relief and looked at Toad with sparkling eyes. "You must've been wrong about the dart being poisoned."

Toad frowned, squinting at the dart on the ground. "I'm glad as anyone that Luigi somehow survived, but I know I wasn't mistaken…"

"Wait. Dart? Poison?" Luigi asked, a frown forming on his face as well.

Rosa quickly cut in. "You and I were attacked." She pointed to bring his attention to the busted door. "A man broke in there, hit me into the coffee table—"

"Ouch," Luigi said sympathetically, wincing.

"And fired a dart into you," she continued. "Then the guy just split."

"Apparently, right after he shot you, he said 'one down, one to go.'" Toad nodded toward Rosa. "Probably meaning that he thought he'd eliminated you, Luigi, and was planning to do in Mario next. But, let me ask you, if the dart wasn't poisoned, why would he be so certain the shot was fatal that he would gloat about it and leave before he finished the job? Without a poison, it wasn't anywhere near a fatal spot."

"Geez…" Luigi rubbed his head under his green fedora. "I don't remember _any_ of that happening. I really got _shot?_"

"Take a look," Daisy said, making a face as she pointed at the dart, covered in chunks of Luigi's flesh and crusted with his drying blood.

Luigi obeyed and leapt back, repulsed. "And that really came from my ba—?" Without finishing the question, he had reached around to gingerly touch his back, and his face drained of color as he found the wound. Then, in a dramatically postponed reaction, he began to yowl his head off at the pain.

Mario laughed at his brother, who looked at him with innocent, watery eyes and drew his sleeve under his nose, sniffing.

"Aw, does the little baby have a boo-boo?" Mario babytalked to mock Luigi, but he had to hide a smile when Luigi responded with an indignant "Hey!" and Luigi's expression switched, quick as changing channels, from helpless pain to vexed consternation.

Polari watched the pair—the pouting Luigi and the snickering Mario—with mild bemusement, but then his attention turned to more pressing matters: his open, gaping door and broken table. "I hope someone has a plan to fix this mess," he said sharply.

Rosa shook out her long, tangled hair and fixed him with a reproachful gaze. "You act like it's our fault we were attacked."

Polari waved an arm at her dismissively. "Of course it's no one's fault. But the fact still remains that harboring these Marios, even for a few minutes, has caused damage to my property."

Luigi opened his mouth to protest this allegation, but Daisy slapped her hand over his mouth, knowing that the fight that would likely ensue would only cause more damage that wasn't worth it. "You will be richly rewarded for your pains, sir. When my parents awaken—"

"Hello?" called a groggy voice from the back room, as if Daisy's words had been infused with some sort of magic awakening spell.

"That's my mom," said Daisy, stunned. She clasped her hands together in joy.

"The royals always did have a certain flair for dramatic timing," Mario muttered, his face deadpan and his voice dry and irreverent. Daisy punched him in the arm.

"Where are we?" demanded another voice, deeper and more emphatic than the first.

Toad, Daisy, and Polari hurried into the back room to calm King Antonio and Queen Sophie, and Mario started to join them until Luigi put a hand on his arm. Mario found himself instead turning to look at his brother.

Luigi was blushing, scuffing his shoes together uncomfortably. "So…I think we can safely say that my idea to get help from the province royalty was a bust."

Mario couldn't help but chuckle at the understatement. "You can say that again."

Luigi looked down at Mario seriously. "Sorry, Mario."

"Don't sweat it, bro." The burst of mirth from Mario had been replaced with a thoughtful contemplation of Luigi's present state of mind. He hoped Luigi wasn't blaming himself for the explosive destruction of the province palace. He frowned. That sort of overblown guilt complex was just like Luigi. For safety's sake, he decided to change the subject. "So next stop is Ernie's to grab the car."

"Yeah," Luigi agreed with an ardent nod of his head.

Rosa tilted her head at this. "Why exactly did you go to the province palace in the first place?"

Luigi turned to her, surprised at the question. "Since Mario saved Daisy before, we figured we could ask them for some supplies to help us find Princess Peach."

"Yes, yes." Rosa waved that answer away as if it was a nuisance of an insect. "But you got caught in that explosion in the garage, didn't you? Why did you want to borrow a car if you were already getting your own fixed up at the shop?"

Luigi started to explain, but Mario interrupted, narrowing his eyes. "How did _you_ know about the garage explosion?"

Luigi fell silent, staring at Rosa also. It was a good question.

Rosa crossed her arms, sitting down with one foot boyishly propped on the chair. "I don't know….Someone mentioned it. Everything happened so fast."

Mario remained silent, studying Rosa's stoic face and defiant body language. He was certain that no one had mentioned the specifics of where they had been caught in the blast; in fact, now that he was thinking of it, he didn't remember anyone even telling Rosa that it was an explosion that had injured them.

But Luigi visibly relaxed, smiling again. Clearly, he was willing and able to lap up anything that Rosa set down in front of him, but Mario wasn't altogether sure that was wise. He took his brother by the arm, never breaking eye contact with Rosa, and gently but firmly began to pull him toward the back room.

Rosa, willfully ignoring Mario's suspicious gaze, followed them. "Hey, you think I could join your little mission?"

Well! She had some pluck; that, Mario could not deny. But nerve was not enough to earn his trust, and he couldn't afford any more setbacks in this quest to save Princess Peach. He opened his mouth to let her down gently, notify her that the Marios worked alone—as an unstoppable, unbreakable duo that no one else could breach. He began to regretfully inform her that there was no space available, at this time, for a third spot in the Princess-fetching crew.

Of course, Luigi blurted out, "Sure! Wow, I'm glad you volunteered. We need all the help we can get." To add insult to injury, he turned to Mario and asked brightly, "Right, Mar?"

Mario wished he could pluck that grin right off of Luigi's face. How dare he allow some…some common heathen into their tight bind of confidence, and without even asking _permission…!_ Immediately he checked himself for that last thought. He had to remember, Luigi was a grown man with his own decisions to make, who didn't need to always come to his big brother for permission, but then again, didn't Luigi realize how important this mission was to him? If Rosa compromised their finding Peach...

On the other hand, if anything, the constant threats and dangers that they had recently faced and successfully survived—if not entirely unscathed—had heightened Mario's assurance that they would find Princess Peach and could tackle any obstacle their enemies would throw at them. If Rosa turned out to be a danger, perhaps it was better to keep her in his sights; after all, "keep your friends close and your enemies closer." Confident that he could handle an attack from Rosa if it ever became necessary, and preferring a frontal attack that he could reasonably prepare for rather than a surprise attack, he offered a hand to Rosa, sealing her fate and his. He gave her a tight smile and she hesitated, looking down at his proffered hand, suspicion of his easy acceptance written all over her face. But after a moment she took his hand in hers and gave a firm, solid shake. He was surprised to feel the texture of her palms, rough and tough, like a mixture of leather and sandpaper.

"Welcome to the team," said Mario, not taking his eyes from her face.

"Thanks," she replied in the same tone, a question etched deeply in her features. She did not even attempt a smile.

Luigi, oblivious to the tension, looked back and forth between the two, elated. "This is great! I can't wait to tell Daisy. Mario, let's go check on King Antonio and Queen Sophie."

With that said, Mario turned and, keeping a firm hand on Luigi's arm and steering him ahead, reentered the dim little healing room, aware of Rosa's light steps behind him.

When they entered the room, Antonio was sitting up and blinking rapidly, examining his blistered arms and charred flesh. Mario had to give him credit; he didn't scream or even look alarmed. Considering the circumstances, it was with unbelievable calmness that Antonio asked, "Would anyone mind telling me what's going on?"

"Oh, _Father!_" Daisy looked like any moment she would start clapping her hands in delight. She hurried to his side and wrapped her arms around his waist. In response to his daughter's overjoyed cheerfulness, the king only looked dazed and confused. He looked down at the top of her head with unfocused eyes and patted her on the back, several questions in every movement he made.

Sophie, less injured and more alert than her husband, was instead gazing around at the shelves and shelves of flasks and beakers, filled with strange, brightly-colored solutions, some bubbling despite lack of a heating source, and some unnaturally still despite the flowing property of liquid. Her gaze encompassed the entire room with swift observance and settled on the faces surrounding her. Mario watched as her expression changed from confusion to understanding and as she struggled to school her features and mask her apprehension, as only a queen could.

"Your Highness," Luigi spoke up, directing Sophie's troubled gaze his way. "There's no easy well to tell you this." With the proper regret and solemnity, he imparted the news. "The province palace was attacked. There were…few survivors."

Sophie could not have looked more lost at the moment if she had tried. She shook her head, still bravely attempting to keep her face impassive and calm, but the human sorrow and bewilderment and fear was steadily seeping through cracks in her mask, creating a mixed and slightly disturbing hybrid effect of a composed queen who had it all together and a frightened and grieving woman. "How many killed?" she finally whispered.

Mario and Luigi exchanged glances.

"Uh…we didn't exactly stick around to count," Mario said, unable to keep the dry sarcasm from his voice.

Sophie paled as that sank in. Too many to count. Too many of her loyal servants and soldiers and maids…too many friends. Countless advisors and confidants, all gone up in smoke. The province palace staff was like one large family, a family now gone, all gone, devoured in an unforgiving blaze.

"Daisy," Antonio finally croaked, pulling away slowly from her embrace and looking her up and down. "You look awful."

Daisy smiled a little sadly at her father, reaching into the basin on the clinical metal stand beside the raised cot on which he was reclined. Wringing a sponge from the basin, she dabbed his forehead. "Don't be rude, Father. I'm not the one with the burns."

At this, Antonio's eyes widened and he examined himself more closely. Daisy watched him carefully for signs that his mind was going into shock, but he was taking his injuries admirably well. Now that he was conscious, his neurons must be on fire, but other than slow movements and gritted teeth, he didn't show the intense pain he was surely suffering.

Polari, hobbling, pushed his way through to the front, peering at the once-imposing monarchs. He shooed Daisy away from the basin, causing her to drop the sponge with a plop back into the water. Mario could see the ripples forming around the sponge turning sooty black as well as an impossible deep crimson.

"Sir," snapped Antonio crisply, his voice a cracked, hoarse version of his usual booming one. "You will remove those manhandling hands from your princess at once."

Mario smirked; the king was still himself, with the same hotheaded pride as always.

Polari started to shrink back, intimidated, but Mario cleared his throat to get the king's attention. Once King Antonio's—and all others', for that matter—eyes were on him, he said, "You owe this man your life, Your Majesty. Maybe you should show some gratitude."

Antonio's face was stony and impassive. He met Mario's eyes, not flinching at the reddened skin of his face. "I don't appreciate _you_ telling me what to do. The entire reason this happened to all of us is _you._ The Royal Family may be completely enamored with you, but I have known ever since you were a little boy that you would be nothing but trouble. We housed you for _one day,_ and look at what has happened to us—!"

Daisy interrupted. "There's no proof that the Marios staying with us had anything to do with the attack. For all we know, it was an assassination attempt on _us,_ and the Marios just happened to visit at a very unfortunate time…and don't forget…they saved me. Twice now."

Antonio glared at his daughter, incensed. "Some _coincidence!_ No, you and I both know that any trouble they may claim to have 'saved' us from, they caused in the first place."

Sophie shook her head, her eyes drooping in weariness. "Not even five minutes we've been together again, and already the two of you are at each other's throats." Her admonishment was colored with sadness, rather than anger, but it was effective. Both Daisy and Antonio shut their mouths and looked at her with similar looks of concern and remorse, but Sophie turned her gaze to Polari. "So we owe you, sir? My husband's and my sincere gratitude, of course, and you will be rewarded for your service."

Polari shrugged thin shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to disguise the glint in his eye as he heard the word 'reward.' "Just doing my duty to the province."

Toad crossed the room and laid a hand on the queen's arm, gentle and consoling, and her eyes lit up.

"Toad! So you survived the…the fire, was it?" Sophie inferred, looking from her husband's obvious burns to Mario's.

Luigi shyly stepped forward. Mario looked over at him, wondering why he was finding the courage to open his mouth in front of the king and queen when the entire premise of their visit had been destroyed. Asking for help was out of the question now; in fact, it was the province royalty who required assistance. But still, Luigi spoke up to the injured monarchs. "It was an explosion," he explained. "In fact, a _lot_ of explosions."

Antonio turned a sharp gaze to the taller Mario. "So the state of the palace…"

"Ruined," Rosa put in swiftly, with no detectible emotion. Mario glanced at her, carefully keeping his face equally inscrutable.

"We need to see," Sophie said, struggling to swing her legs over the edge of the cot, but Polari quickly advised her against the movement.

Mario pulled Luigi aside as Toad, Daisy, Rosa, and Polari began to fill the king and queen in on the ghastly details. As fascinating as hearing the story again would be, he was getting anxious.

"Can we _leave_ now?" he muttered to Luigi. "Polari can finish patching up Sophie and Antonio, and then Toad and Daisy can escort them back to the palace ruins, and they can figure out what to do from there. We're not needed anymore."

"Don't forget, Rosa's coming with us too," Luigi reminded his brother, and then looked at him with a shrewdness that was strange on his features. "Why the sudden hurry?"

Mario shrugged, and crossed his arms, recognizing the obvious defensiveness of his movements, but unable to help himself. He was dismayed to hear that same defensiveness entering his voice as well as he explained, "I want to actually start doing some Princess-searching now. You know, the whole reason we started this journey in the first place?"

Luigi knew better. He knew that Mario was uncomfortable cooped up in this close, tight room with all these people, especially with all the burns on his body. Mario prided himself on his excellent combat skills, and it was crushing to his pride to be seen with such visible and severe injuries, despite the fact that they hadn't been caused by clumsiness or ineptitude.

But all Luigi said in response to Mario was, "All right. Let's go back to Ernie's." He turned to Rosa, whose attention had been divided but mostly focused on the whispering Marios in the corner. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," Rosa answered immediately, plaiting her hair into a thick, messy braid even as she stalked toward the brothers. "As soon as you are."

Daisy separated herself from her parents and bounded to Mario's side. "As am I."

To Mario's credit, he did not explode at this. The idea was too fantastic for him to even consider with any real seriousness. Rosa was already an unwelcome addition to the team, but to add the province princess as well—it would never work, it was impossible, and furthermore…well, he just wouldn't allow it.

And that's why he couldn't believe his ears when Luigi said, "Great! More help. Wonderful!"

Through his thorough shock, Mario was a bit awed. He was certain that Luigi was possibly the only person who could say that without even one tinge of sarcasm. He watched, nonplussed, as Daisy gave a clipped nod of her head and moved closer to Luigi.

"Absolutely not!" Antonio managed to make his voice somehow thunder despite his severe injuries. He held up a hand to quell Daisy's arguments before they had even come to fruition. "I am your father—"

"Yes. I know that. But I am an adult, Dad," Daisy said, betraying only a little irritation by her voice and expression. She implored him to understand with her eyes. "You can't control my choices anymore. They're mine to make."

"As your _king,_ I forbid it!" Antonio was breathing heavily now, glaring daggers at his daughter. His presence was as large and forbidding as ever, not even the tiniest bit diminished because of his scorched skin. If anything, the battered king looked even more intimidating than before. Scars only indicated that he was a survivor.

Daisy tilted her head, looking down on her father. Uncertainty was creeping its way onto her face, and stubbornness was giving way to concern. Mario could tell that she was so sorry to cause stress to her father in his condition, but she nonetheless did not give any ground. "You're not really going to try to pull the 'royal' card with me, are you now, Dad?" Daisy asked gently, sitting on the edge of his cot and pressing on his chest to try to get him to recline in a more comfortable position. "Look, you're working yourself into agitation. That won't aid your convalescence."

Antonio ignored his daughter's concern. "I won't—I won't stand for this—this _insolence!_ To even suggest such a preposterous notion…to have it known that the princess of Arrow City cavorted around on a wild goose chase with two…two con-artists…with the Marios! I won't have it. They bring nothing but trouble, those wretched Marios—they bring all this danger upon themselves! You will not associate yourself with them. I absolutely forbid it!"

Mario and Luigi blinked at this little explosion and exchanged a look, for once on the exact same page.

After a moment, Luigi cleared his throat. "We are actually right here," he reminded Antonio politely. "If you have something to say to us, we'd appreciate it if you just came out with it."

Antonio looked over at Luigi, surprise erasing the anger on his face. Mario felt quietly proud.

A loaded silence hung in the air and Mario watched, his interest piqued, as his little brother stared down the king. Neither man backed down for several tense moments, and then Antonio turned away indifferently and changed the subject. "Daisy, you repeatedly claim not to have forgotten your duties to the province. Yet you're prepared to gallivant around the countryside with no rhyme or reason, especially now when we need to band together and regroup?"

Daisy's resolve faltered, and Mario could clearly see her loyalties warring and clashing on her face. She looked from Antonio's aggressive visage to Mario, who kept his expression impassive. Secretly, Mario agreed with the king, and he wouldn't allow Daisy to join the quest even if she somehow managed to win the fight with her father, but he would rather Daisy made up her own mind to stay where she belonged. If she did, he could bypass having to actually turn her down, a thought that he did not particularly relish.

Luigi moved to Daisy's side and put a hand on her shoulder, and she looked at him, surprised. He offered her a gentle smile. "Do whatever feels right, Daisy," he told her softly. "Either way you choose, you'll be doing a service to your province. In some capacity, you will be helping someone—and that's what's most important, right?"

Daisy nodded. She straightened, the war inside her converted to peace, her decision made. Mario and Antonio both watched her with bated breath, anxiously noting the stony stubbornness coming over the princess's features and hoping against hope that her resolution was something they'd want to hear.

"I'm going with the Marios," Daisy said with finality, and Antonio and Mario both prepared to explode with righteous fury, but Sophie put her hand on her husband's arm and Luigi placed his arm around Mario and steered him a bit apart from the group.

Mario heard Sophie soothingly say, "It's Daisy's choice, Antonio. You have to learn to let her spread her wings. If this is how she wants to serve, by helping to find Peach, well, we can hardly say that that's not admirable. We will work on calming our subjects and rebuilding the palace, so that Daisy will have somewhere to come home to when she returns."

Hearing this, Mario tried to turn around and argue with the queen, but Luigi kept a firm grip on him, and in his weakened state, Mario found that, to his frustration, he couldn't break the grip. "Luigi," Mario growled, "you will let me go—"

"No," Luigi told him matter-of-factly. "Sorry, Mario. You're going to have to learn that you can't always have your way. Now don't sulk!" he added, when Mario looked away. "Change is good sometimes, you know."

"I wanted it to be like old times, just the two of us," Mario muttered. He wanted to say so much more, and found his explanation both lacking and woefully inadequate, but the words would not come. He didn't want to sound like a whining child, but at the same time, he wasn't really worried that Luigi would judge him. Luigi understood, just as he always had and just as he always would, even when Mario couldn't find the words.

As if he could read Mario's mind, Luigi's face softened. "I know. But times are different now, and we have to change with them or be left behind."

On one level, Mario knew that Luigi was right. He was a warrior, after all, and didn't warriors prize above all things flexibility, malleability? Like a chameleon, he should be able to adapt to his surroundings at a moment's notice; like a snake, he should constantly shed his skin. But a petulant, nagging part of him persisted, insisting that things had been successful in the old days, when it was just the two Mario brothers, and why change a method that hadn't yet malfunctioned?

When Luigi finally allowed Mario to rejoin the group, Mario saw that a sort of breaking had occurred within the king. His body language was not so poised as before and his expression, while not completely browbeaten or defeated or even accepting, had altered to something a smidge less belligerent. In that moment, Mario knew that he had lost.

In further confirmation, Antonio said, holding his head high as if that could somehow disguise the subtle crack in his voice, "Daisy. You have my permission to go."

_But not mine,_ thought Mario. _Not mine._ He wanted to shout it at everyone, but for once in his life, he felt powerless. Even if he said it, it wouldn't matter. The decision wasn't in his hands.

_I wonder if this is how Luigi _always _feels…_

Mario guiltily tried to quell the thought and glanced over at Luigi, as if he was a mind reader, but Luigi was watching the scene before him with interest, and after a moment, Mario tuned back in.

Daisy was holding her mother's hand tightly in wordless solidarity and tilting her head, studying her father for a long, thoughtful moment. Then she said, "I don't need your permission, Dad. It means nothing, because I would have gone either way. But"—and here she let go of her mother and knelt at her father's bedside imploringly—"it would mean so much to me if you would give me your blessing instead."

Antonio was quiet. "Blessing. You—you have the gall—" He stopped himself, massaging his temples with fingers that trembled.

"Dad…" began Daisy, beginning to rise.

"So my permission means _nothing,_ does it? You would've done what you wanted regardless, eh? You're just _so grown up,_ aren't you, Daisy?" Antonio was working himself up into a fury. "What do I know? I'm only the man who raised you! I'm only the appointed king of the province! But no…you know better, don't you? You forget respect for your elders, forget that I taught you everything you know…!"

For once, Daisy was speechless, but Luigi leapt to her aid, glaring at the ranting king. "Now, you listen here. Daisy is only standing up for what she believes in, doing what's right—"

"_You ask for my blessing?_" Antonio cut across Luigi's protests with thundering acidity. "For your insolence, for your utter disregard of my wishes, for your disobedience, you ask for my _blessing?_ Daisy, I have had it. Disrespect, blatant lies—if you expect me to believe that silly birdwatching story, an insult to my intelligence—! No," he said, holding a hand up and effectively closing Daisy's opening mouth. "I'll hear none of it. You have my permission to go with the Marios, but if you do, don't expect to have a home when you return!"

"Antonio!" Sophie cried in dismay.

"Silence!" Antonio bellowed. "You heard me, Daisy. If you choose to pursue this reckless folly, you are no longer my daughter, no longer a princess of the province. So choose. Discover to everyone here whence your loyalties truly lie!"

Daisy stared at her father, still trying to process his explosion. "You…you're disowning me?"

Antonio turned away from her. "You disown yourself by choosing the Marios."

Daisy took a few stumbling steps backwards before regaining her bearings and holding her head high with all the dignity of her stature. She looked from her mother's pained face to her father's stormy one and then she neatly turned from them both and instead turned her focus to Toad. "You will see, of course, that my mother and father are well taken care of?"

It took Toad a moment, but then he stuttered, "O-of course, Princess."

Very deliberately, Antonio said tightly, "We are not your parents anymore, Daisy. And Toad, she is no longer a princess."

Daisy met Antonio's eyes coolly. "All right," she said, her voice impassive, not taking her eyes from Antonio. "Then, Toad, take good care of…" She hesitated, swallowing, a crack in her unruffled façade betraying the difficulty she was having. "Take good care of the king and queen, would you?"

Toad looked at her gravely. "I will, Prin—I mean, Daisy."

Daisy gave Toad a curt nod, turned on her heel, and headed to the door. "Come on," she said, as she walked between Mario and Luigi, who were both gaping after her. "Time is of the essence here."

Mario blinked. "Can't argue with that logic," he said dryly, and followed her.

Luigi turned back to Rosa and extended his hand. "Shall we, madam?"

"We shall," she answered, and started to take his hand, but was interrupted by Polari.

"Wait, Rosa," Polari said, placing a hand on her elbow. As she turned, he picked up a wooden box from a nearby shelf and shoved it into her waiting hands, glancing at her meaningfully. "I didn't get to give them a thorough examination, but give them these. You know what to do."

Rosa looked down at the box and back up at Polari. "Thank you," she said seriously, ignoring the question that was starting to form on Luigi's lips. "Come on, Luigi. We don't want to keep them waiting," she said, and bounded out of the room.

Luigi started after her, but before he left, he couldn't help but do what none of the others had done. He glanced behind him. And so he was the only one to notice, before he scampered out of the room, the solitary tear running down King Antonio's cheek.

Luigi squinted as he exited the dark house. It seemed like ages since he had seen sunlight, ages, though in truth it had only been about a day. But so much had happened. His life was so _eventful_ now, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. Mario's life was always like this. Luigi didn't know whether to feel sorry or envious.

He felt a surge of sickness again as he watched Rosa's dark braid swinging back and forth in front of him, the monotonous motion playing with his newly-sensitive stomach, and he hoped he wouldn't retch again. He placed his hand on Rosa's shoulder, and she spun around, on the defense immediately.

"Whoa. Sorry to startle you," he murmured faintly. "Could I walk in front of you, please?"

Rosa straightened up, the suspicion dissipating from her posture and expression. She even looked a little embarrassed of her reaction. "Of course. You okay?" she added, her eyes flitting over his face with something that was a little more than a stranger's concern.

"I will be," he said, still quiet, and if he was being strangely cryptic, Rosa didn't comment. She silently fell back and let him take the space between her and the two in front walking side by side, Mario and Daisy.

Now Luigi was watching his brother's broad back, and he found himself naturally growing calmer, the familiar feeling of protection and security that seeing Mario's imposing figure always gave him returning. Even if Mario _was_ shorter than him.

He walked without speaking, hearing Daisy's quiet voice and his brother's low answering mumbles, and for an instant he wondered what they were speaking about, but then he was consumed with a stronger curiosity. He patted his pocket and was surprised to feel the object he was looking for right away. He put his hand in his pocket and closed his fingers around it—small and cold to the touch. But effective nonetheless. It didn't need to be particularly large.

He closed his eyes and opened them again, still relaxed, still feeling that pleasant sense of safety. He wasn't thinking much of anything, and so he surprised himself when he tapped Mario on the shoulder.

"What is it, Luigi?" Mario grunted, and Luigi could tell that Mario had been deep in conversation with Daisy and didn't appreciate the interruption.

This was no good. That, Luigi knew for certain. Insistently, he tapped Mario on the shoulder again, harder.

_Look at me…_ he thought, with some desperation, only knowing that it was dreadfully important.

Mario turned, frowning in irritation. "_What,_ Luigi?"

Luigi revealed it then—the knife—and he plunged it into Mario's stomach. The knife was small, but it would do, he thought, grunting, as long as he had the proper force behind it. If he could push it far enough in, past the solid abdominal muscles, he could pierce the intestines, and then—and then…

Everything stopped.

Then, a scream erupted from Daisy and there was something sticky and warm covering his hands, and Rosa was there, beside him, asking him why, why had he done that and what had he been thinking…and all he could see was Mario's eyes, boring into his, and he noticed that they weren't confused or pained.

He was probably used to this amount of pain, so much so that he didn't even react anymore. There was something, Luigi thought, very, very sad about that.

And Daisy was there, trying to pry Luigi's hands from the handle of the knife, but Luigi wouldn't let go, though his fingers were sliding on the slick and slippery surface. In the end it was Rosa who succeeded in extracting him from Mario, easily pushing on Luigi's chest with a single hand and making him stumble backward.

Mario fell to the ground with a heavy thud. At once, Daisy knelt beside him and, turning a wide-eyed, shell-shocked face to Luigi, asked with a quavering voice, "Why did you do that?"

He could feel Rosa's sharp eyes on him, but he didn't meet them, nor did he look at Daisy. He couldn't take his eyes away from Mario, lying helpless on the ground, his shirt slowly soaking with the dark stain. Mario's eyes were slowly closing as his mind descended into unconsciousness…well, now he would know how it felt to be the unconscious member of the party, the useless one, the liability…

Luigi found himself shaking, the blood draining from his face. Mario, his protector, rendered useless so easily, and dispatched by his hand. "I don't know…" he muttered. "I don't know."


	13. Not a Chapter

There was a pounding at Mario's door and then a familiar voice, far too cheery for the early hour, said, "Wakey wakey! You decent in there?"

Daisy burst into the room, seeing Mario's wide eyes first, and then her eyes traveled downward. She immediately slapped her hands over her eyes. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Her face was red as she closed the door behind her.

Mario's face was red too. "Sorry, I guess I was too slow…"

"It's my fault!"

"From the top!" shouted the director.

**Presenting…a Quest for Royalty short…**

**The Blooper Reel**

_(The views and opinions expressed herein are those of the individual, and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of tetekanui. So don't sue her.)_

Mario looked at the spread before him: bacon, sausage, pancakes, waffles, eggs, French toast, fruit, muffins, as well as coffee, tea, and milk. "Well, gee, this is _why_ Mario's so fat. I probably eat like this at Peach's castle too." He paused. "You know, I don't even like continental breakfasts like this. You know what I could really go for right now? Tacos."

"I hear that," seconded Luigi, from offscreen.

"Cut! Mario, just eat your plate so we can get on with it."

"Fine…" Mario speared a pancake with his fork. "Nothing makes me hungrier than almost killing the butler," he said ironically, through a mouthful of pancake. "Because of a totally realistic and not in any way symbolic or foreshadowing dream, right, Miss Director?"

"You know, I never remember my dreams," Luigi butt in. "And definitely never as clear as Mario apparently can. And all of my dreams are usually nonsensical and don't directly pertain to my life. So, I mean, if you're going for realism—"

"You're not even in this scene," said the director, exasperated.

ooo

"Easiest. Job. Ever. I get to basically sleep through all the scenes," said Luigi.

"Shut up, Luigi, you're supposed to be dying. How else can we cram in a _totally necessary_ God revelation in a Mario-based story?" Mario scolded.

Luigi obediently closed his eyes and let his head fall limply to the side again.

Mario started to muse all about Luigi and, in doing so, provided a helpful and convenient expository flashback about his parents.

"So…" said Rosa, who was standing around awkwardly with Daisy and Toad while all this angsty inner monologue was occurring. "Um. It really sucks that Luigi's dying and all."

Daisy nodded. "Yup. Ruins my day."

"Will you two be _quiet?_ I'm to the part where I'm praying. Show some respect."

"Sorry," said Rosa.

"Thank you!" Mario returned to his inward prayer. _Ah, right, now where was I? Oh yeah…I trust You, but please, God, he's just a kid. Please don't take him yet. If You have to take someone, take me, I beg You._

"OKAY, DEAL!" said a booming, magnificent voice.

Mario jumped, and then he heard the sound of that same booming voice laughing. Luigi opened one eye and sighed. "Did Wario get hold of the megaphone again?"

Mario shook his head. "He's so immature…Hey, Weege, you're on your deathbed, remember?"

"Right. Oh, wait, I'm supposed to wake up now, and throw up, right?"

"Good luck," said Toad, grimacing.

"I can help," Mario said with a mischievous grin, and he started to stick his finger down Luigi's throat to trigger the gag reflex.

Luigi realized what he was doing and pushed Mario away. "Ew, Mario, gross. Stop it!"

Mario laughed as he staggered backward from Luigi's forceful shove. "You're not supposed to be that strong, Weege. You're dying."

"Eh…I'm bigger than you. You shouldn't mess with me." Luigi sat up. "You know, Mario, I can't wait until _you_ get a throw-up scene."

Mario shrugged. "I'm _Mario._ I'm not gonna get a vomit scene. And besides, there's been enough vomit spewing in this story to last it, right, Director?...Director?"

ooo

Mario unclipped the gun from his belt and handed it to Luigi. "Here. Anyone attack you, you can defend yourself."

Luigi took the gun. "Hey, cool!" He practiced pointing it around and waving it. "I feel so powerful right now!"

"You're supposed to be scared of the gun!" a voice yelled from offscreen.

"Really? Lame. Okay." Luigi held the gun as far away as he could from his body, pinched prissily between his thumb and forefinger, and forced himself to pale (quite the talent!) and shake.

"A little over the top reaction there, don't you think?" Mario asked, standing back with his hands on his hips.

"Eh, I'm just messing around…"

"I like that interpretation. We're keeping it! Do it just like that!" the director praised.

"What," said Luigi.

ooo

"In a few moments, he'll be dead, and it won't matter," said Wario, puffing out his chest as he delivered his first major line, "if his name is Louis, Larry, or Buffalo Bill."

Luigi cracked up. "That's not the line."

"From the top!"

"It won't matter," Wario tried again, "whether his name is Louis, Larry, or Billy…Billy…uh, I don't remember. Billy Mays. Billy Ray Cyrus. Luigi, your new name is Billy Goat Gruff."

Mario and Luigi were both in stitches by now, and the director was trying her very hardest not to cry.

ooo

"So, who's pumped up for the big arc finale?" Daisy asked, bursting into the room.

The other cast members ranged from exhibiting no reaction to a limp 'meh.' It was so quiet that the ceiling fan churning could be clearly heard. Luigi turned a page of Tolstoy's _War and Peace,_ which he was finding was much less dense and hard to follow and difficult to get through than the scripts that he was being forced to memorize.

"Aw, come on, guys! We get a break after it! Aren't you guys at least excited for that?"

Luigi sat up. "I guess. But I bet the big ending is gonna be—gasp! Wait for it—me being knocked unconscious. I'm so sick of how useless I'm being portrayed. I'm called a main character, but I was barely in the first arc."

Daisy picked up Luigi's discarded script and flipped to the last page. "Oh, wow. Luigi, you definitely don't get knocked out. Someone else does—I think he gets more than knocked out. I think he gets _taken_ out."

"Who?" asked Rosa, interested. She plopped down on the sofa next to Luigi and looked over his shoulder.

"Hey, Mario," Luigi said, "it looks like I stab you at the end of the first arc."

Mario put down his own book, _The Divine Comedy._ "Why?"

Luigi shrugged. "It just says that I was thinking about how great and awesome and protective you were, and then that led to me stabbing you."

Mario stared. Then he returned to his book. "Shock value. And I hope this means I _do_ get written out. I hate working this story. It would be a relief to die off."

"I hear you," moped Mona, who was sitting with her chin in her hands in the corner.

"A Mario story without Mario in it?" Daisy asked skeptically.

"Why not? I'm barely recognizable to Mario as it is! And the director seems to be so keen on making everything different and completely puking on canon to get attention, so why not? Write Mario out of her Mario story. I bet that's what she's doing."

"Maybe God told me to," Luigi joked.

ooo

"Why don't we curse in this story?" Luigi asked, while bouncing on a pogo stick during downtime to procrastinate on rehearsing his lines.

Mario shrugged.

"I mean, I'm not complaining or anything, it's just…it seems like we get into a lot of cursing… situations, you know?"

"I guess to keep the audience's childhood intact, I don't know," said Mario, as he popped open a can of beer.

"Yeah, I guess you're probably right about that," said Luigi, watching Rosa strut past in her lovely outfit that consisted of strips covering her most private parts and not much else. "I'm sure glad this is such a wholesome, family-friendly story."

Several workers walked by, pushing carts of prosthetic severed limbs and other body parts.

"Hey, what's that for?" asked Luigi.

"There's an explosion scene coming up in the next chapter," one of the workers grunted in answer. "Lots of carnage and grievous injury."

"Oh great, I bet I'm gonna be knocked unconscious," Luigi said.

"Yup."

"What else is new?"

ooo

"I assure you, Mr. Mario, that Peach is not a paragon of a prerfect pincess, ugh, blah, I can never get that line right!"

Mario laughed.

"Well," Daisy said, looking at him a little crossly, "this alliteration theme with my character is getting to be a little much, don't you think? Listen to this line coming up: 'Since when did you become a passive player?' asked the princess, each word a perfectly-aimed poisonous projectile. I mean, _Jesus. _I don't even get the point. I mean, I feel like it's supposed to be symbolic or something, but I don't get what it's supposed to symbolize. It's just unnecessary."

"Don't worry. Not all of the alliteration is even dialogue," Mario tried to calm her.

"Yeah, but—who _talks_ like this? No wonder I can't get this right. Paragon of perfect princess. Try to say that five times fast."

Mario did, perfectly poised and practiced.

Daisy glared at him. "I hate you."

Mario grinned.

ooo

"You have my permission to go with the Marios, but if you do, don't expect to have a home when you return!" Antonio allowed a moment to let the line settle, and then cleared his throat, looking nervously over at the director. "How was that?"

"Er…good, but maybe be a little more emphatic. You've got to make me believe that you're mad enough at this daughter you've raised since birth that you're willing to kick her out."

"Yeah, Dad. Channel that inner douchebag," Daisy piped up cheerfully.

"Your voice cracked a little at the end," said Luigi. "It kinda detracted from the intimidation factor, and all that."

"So, a douchier delivery on the lines, got it," Antonio said. He paused. "It's just, I don't understand this. What's my motivation? It seems a tad unrealistically harsh, don't you think?"

"Maybe I'm just that infuriating," Daisy said. "You've had to deal with me for years and you finally got fed up. You probably just latched on to any excuse you could find to be rid of me."

Luigi traced his finger down his cheek as if it was a tear. "It's a very sad story."

"Quite," agreed Daisy. "Maybe it'll make me go emo. Like Mario."

"Hey!" Mario said.

Antonio pulled Daisy into a hug and tousled her hair. "I don't see why I'd ever want to get rid of you."

"Aw, Dad. Stop," Daisy protested with a laugh. "Remember: douchieness. Okay?"

"Okay. I'll try again."

ooo

Luigi struggled to pull the tight blue pants up over his underwear.

Mario, who had been intending to just walk past, stopped and stared at this sight.

"Oh. Hey, Mario. A little help?" Luigi grimaced as he looked down at the catsuit. "This thing makes no sense. I don't even know how she gets this on."

"You know this was made to fit a girlish figure, right?" Mario said, trying to restrain his laughter.

"I wanted to try wearing it. It looked like it would stretch. Apparently not. Hey, have you seen the sword props she gets to use? They're so cool! Why don't we get swords, Mario?"

ooo

"Hey, guys," Toad said, walking up to the rest of the cast, who were just lounging about. "Do you want to run lines once before we start?"

"You act like you even have lines," Mario said. "Not trying to be mean or anything, Toad, but honestly."

"I know." Toad sat down and dropped his chin into his hands, his face morose. "I don't understand. I'm a good character, aren't I? I've been in a ton of more games than Miss Star Princess over there."

"Hey!" said Rosa.

"And I don't even have an annoying voice in this universe. What gives?"

"Yeah, Polari doesn't get many lines either," Rosa said, swinging her legs off the top of the couch she was lying on and sitting up, a frown forming on her face. "You reckon it's because the director doesn't care for those characters?"

"Maybe so," Mario mused. "I think if she was a professional director, she wouldn't show such clear bias towards her characters in any way. But, that's just me."

ooo

Mario moved to shove his brother behind the large potted plant outside the throne room. However, he ended up bumping Luigi's head on the hard pot instead.

Mario cracked up. "Oh my god, Luigi, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Nice aim, genius."

"I'm gonna save the Princess with wonderful aim like that," Mario joked.

"If we ever get around to the actual Princess-saving," Luigi muttered.

"Right? Anyway, sorry about that, man."

ooo

"Dad! It affects _everyone_ that the Princess is missing. You know what could happen if her—whoa!" Jumping to her feet, Daisy lost her balance and toppled down the raised platform. She landed on the floor with her legs kicking and her big skirts hampering her from standing.

Antonio, Sophie, and Mario were all doubled over laughing.

"This _wardrobe,_ I swear to god…" Daisy muttered. "These high-heeled shoes, these big ballgowns. Yeah. Miss Director. I have to ask you," she said, as she finally regained her footing, "why you changed so much canon and yet decided that you couldn't even change my wardrobe? You know, to make it more practical? Just sayin'."

ooo

"Well," asked Luigi, "did you at least thank them for their time, or did you storm out?"

"_Thank_ them? For wasting my time? This whole visit was a waste. All I got out of it was an insult to my character and Peach's. _Thank them?_ You must be joking."

"So that would be…you stormed out," Luigi said with a shake of his head.

Mario took a breath to answer…and waited. Luigi stared at him awkwardly. There was a long silence. Then the two both slowly looked toward the door of the throne room.

"Oh, sorry, was that my cue? It totally was, wasn't it? I'm so sorry. What was my line again?" Daisy's voice came from inside the room.

The director slapped her forehead.

ooo

Toad picked up the dart and took a big, long whiff.

Mario started to crack up.

"Okay, um, I like the boldness of your interpretation there, but just a small sniff would make this…a little less awkward," the director said, as kindly as she could.

"There's actually no way to make this scene not awkward," Toad complained. He took another huge sniff and grinned. "Smells like daisies," he joked.

And at that, Mario lost it, even though he was supposed to be, you know, slowly getting submerged into grief. But whatever, not like anyone listens to a director anyway…

ooo

Mona thrust her curtains open and noticed a bird's nest, and inside, two eggs. "Mm…" Mona's stomach growled. "Eggs…"

"_Cut!_"

ooo

"It makes me sick," Mona says, "how everyone thinks they're heroes, when underneath everyone's noses, they're planning to seize control of all the provinces! And blah, blah, blah, more exposition, I hope that all my lines aren't like this."

"We've been over this," Wario replied, "but obviously I'm going to tell you again anyway because I am a vehicle for exposition. Yay for unrealistic monologues!"

"_Cut!_"

ooo

_Mario…hot, hot, hot! And Wario…not, not, not! So why do I like Wario again? Oh yeah…vigilante, underdog, fighting for justice and all that. Hm. But, Mario's kinda got all that going for him too, except minus the piggy eyes and the stocky frame and the—Wow, Mario is so dreamy, especially when I compare him to Wario._

The director was getting quite tired of having to yell this, but nevertheless: "_Cut!_"

ooo

Mario held up a fist to knock, his heart pounding, but at the last second he turned away to leave. Three times he tried and failed to knock, but the memory of a promise he had made kept him from fleeing, and on the fourth attempt, his fist struck wood.

He stepped back with his hands behind his back and waited with the air of someone used to being obeyed.

Presently, he heard a crash and a muttered curse and then a lot of shuffling—and then more muttered cursing. "Can't even find the light switch. This place is _really_ a pigsty. Hold on, Mario."

Mario's mouth twitched, but he admirably kept himself composed.

Finally, Luigi opened the door, crossly. "Hey, dude. Come on in. Apparently my house is a mess."

"You just can't do anything without me, can you? Not even keep your house clean," Mario teased.

"Yeah. Maybe." Luigi shrugged. "Oh, Mario, why am I such a mess?" he cried melodramatically.

"Because you're Luigi." Mario poked him.

Luigi gave Mario a flat look. "Your mom's a mess."

"My mom's dead."

"Oh yeah! In this story, yeah, she is, isn't she?...Sucks."

The two stood awkwardly.

"Makes you feel like a jerk, doesn't it?" Mario finally said.

"Kinda. But she's my mom too, so…" Luigi shrugged.

ooo

"I can't work in these conditions!" Peach flounced onto the set, looking properly agitated.

"Yay! We found her!" Luigi joked.

"If only it was that easy," Mario said, rolling his eyes. "Hey, you know you're not supposed to be in the story yet, right, Peach?"

"Whatever. At this rate, I never will be." She sat on Luigi's lap, and took a box of cigarettes from her pocket, packing them rhythmically against her leg before opening the box. "Got a light?"

"Yeah, I got you." Luigi pulled out a lighter and lit the end of her cigarette.

"Thanks." Peach exhaled a puff of smoke. "Do you guys have any idea when I am gonna be a part of this story? I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, I am the titular 'Royalty,' am I not?"

Luigi grimaced, holding Peach's waist securely with one arm, and playing with her hair with the other hand. "This director is kind of a slow burner. We're twelve chapters in and only two days in, and it's basically been about how we can't seem to get the quest going."

"Because Luigi over here can't seem to stay awake," Mario added, elbowing Luigi.

Luigi shrugged. "Not my fault. It's in the script."

"Uh huh," Peach said, not entirely convinced. "And do you have any theories on where I am or who captured me?"

"Well, I guess the logical guess would be Bowser," began Mario.

"Although Antonio thinks that you ran away," Luigi added.

"Shut _up!_ Now wouldn't that be a twist?" Peach smirked. "So, who's Antonio again?"

Luigi pointed. "Nice guy. He's got a bit part. His recurring purpose is to basically be as douchey as he can. He's Daisy's dad."

"He's black," said Peach.

"Well, hello, giant elephant in the room. I believe we've said goodbye to subtlety," Mario said, shaking his head.

"Kinda hot too," Peach commented.

Mario and Luigi wordlessly looked at each other and then at her.

Peach shrugged. "I like older men. They're more worldly and experienced. And apparently...Is _that_ Toad? Whoa. He got changed into a hunky piece of man meat. I dunno, I'm kinda liking this story so far."

Mario and Luigi decided not to comment on this.

"So, what do you guys think? Do you think I was kidnapped, or that I ran away? Gosh, I hope it's revealed in the end that I ran away, because I'm sick and tired of getting kidnapped."

Mario shrugged. "Never can tell. I think this director is just making stuff up as she goes along. Like what would be the most shocking and unexpected and totally pointless thing to do? Something that will guarantee that the audience will return, because, you know, she needs cheap shock value for that instead of actually creating a sensible, intriguing storyline. She relies on gimmicks. Those pesky storytelling standards? She doesn't have them!"

Luigi squeezed Peach around the waist tightly. "I wouldn't worry about it. There probably is no Bowser in this story. And even if there is, he's probably not a giant lizard turtle thing, considering that _Polari_ was changed to a human and Toad into a built, muscley man—"

Bowser stomped up with a roar, very clearly a spiky-shelled giant lizard turtle thing. "What's that you say?"

"Well," said Luigi, "I'll be—"

Attention: The rest of Luigi's statement has been censored for questionable content. Also, it may ruin your childhood to hear Luigi say such controversial dialogue. And we'll be damned if we let that happen.

ooo

"Ready! Aim! Fire!" shouted Wario.

"…The End," whispered Luigi.

Mario and Wario started to giggle madly, like real men.

"How mad would the audience have been?" Mario gasped.

"I can just see the hate mail now," Wario agreed.

ooo

Mario reached over and twisted the dial, automatically wincing as gospel music blared from the car radio's speakers.

"Why was your radio even on that station in the first place?" Luigi asked.

"Because Miss Director, in her 'infinite wisdom' decided it was so."

"Oh, gee, did you ever think that maybe I was trying to foreshadow your God issues in Genesis?" snapped the director.

"That's your idea of foreshadowing? Clumsy and lazy... and stupid," Mario said decisively.

"Genesis? Like the book in the Bible? Is that one of our future script titles? Man, that's _real_ subtle. Are you trying to plaster some overt tenuous symbolism on your story to try to make it seem like a work of art? Honestly." Luigi snorted. "Well, at least you're not calling the one after Revelations. Right?"

ooo

The woman in blue, keeping Luigi in a chokehold, raised a gun to his head.

Mario cursed under his breath, wondering for a second if he should leave Luigi, but quickly dismissing the option. He prepared to stand and fight, willing to kill and even to die.

"And then the lady shoots me in the head and I die and Mario's all sad. The End. Also something or other about dragons…and Peach…I dunno," Luigi finished the story, with a wise nod of his head.

The Blue Assassin started laughing so hard that her grip loosened from Luigi, and she dropped the gun.

"I'm free!" Luigi commented.

The Blue Assassin patted him on the back.

The director slapped her forehead. For possibly the millionth time.

"Whew. Okay. That was a good one, Luigi," said the Blue Assassin. "But don't make me laugh too hard, I can barely breathe in this thing."

"I _know._ It's so tight, in all the wrong places," Luigi commiserated.

The Blue Assassin took a step back, looking at Luigi. "How do _you_ know that?"

Now Mario was laughing too, as Luigi rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

ooo

Luigi couldn't stop giggling. He hiccupped once, and then resumed giggling harder than ever. He was holding a half-empty bottle in his hand and several others littered the floor.

Mario came in, took one look at the entire scene—and crossed to the little table, sitting next to Luigi and popping open a bottle for himself. "Well," he said conversationally after taking a large swig, "_you're_ totally wasted."

Luigi leaned his head on his hands, laughing harder. He seemed to find humor in everything at the moment. "This story actually seems good when I'm like this."

"You mean wasted out of your mind? Dude, we should have a whole chapter where we're just drunk and rambling."

"Sh, sh, shhhh…" Luigi collapsed into terrified giggles. "Don't give Miss Director any ideas. Remember the Mona chapter? Who's drunk idea was that?"

"Ah…it may have been mine." Mario frowned. "I don't remember." He took a large gulp. "Man, this sure is some good bottled water."

Attention: The above line by Mario has been edited for questionable content. Also, it would probably ruin your childhood if we straight-out mentioned that Mario and Luigi are drinking liquor.

ooo

Daisy and Mario reached the doors to the throne room. Daisy threw them open, to be greeted by a fearsome wall of fire.

"Are you sure your parents are in there?" asked Mario.

"Yeah," said Daisy.

"Okay. Well, I guess I'll jump over then and go get them." Mario bunched up his muscles and prepared to spring over the wall of flame.

"Um…hey, hey, hey. Hold on there a moment, Hoppy." The director clapped her hands for attention. "Did you not read this part of the script? You throw Daisy over the wall, and then you end up having to run through after her."

"That's dumb. My original name was Jumpman, you know," said Mario. "Because that's what I do. It's kinda my 'thing.' I jump high."

The director sighed. "I _know_ that, Mario. But we're working with real-life physics, so you can't just jump over! You weigh too much, and humans can't really jump that high."

"Oh, pardon me. You're right, I'm in such a _realistic _world. So realistic that all parents die and dragons exist and there's a princess that rules the entire world. Yeah. Real life. Got it."

The director's face was heating up. "Oh, _fine!_ Well, if you must think of it that way, then just remember that sometimes, in the game, there were certain obstacles that were too high for you to jump over. So this is just one of those things that is too high for you to jump over. Is that better?"

Mario sized up the fiery wall and rubbed his chin. "I think I've hopped right over higher." Mario proved it by leaping over the wall of fire and back. "See? Piece of cake!"

"Oh, good, so my leg doesn't have to burn, and I don't have to have that angsty moment," said Daisy in relief.

"Yeah, and the whole me burning crisis. Totally averted," Mario added, beaming.

"…You are running through that fire whether you can clear the wall or not," the director insisted, through gritted teeth. "I need you to, okay? It's a plot point. The rest of the story doesn't work if you don't. So can you please just accept it?"

"Sadist," said Mario.

ooo

Luigi fell heavily to the floor as a tiny dart pierced his back and released a toxin into his bloodstream.

Luigi raised his head. "The End," he said faintly, before his head flopped back down onto the floor.

ooo

Mario started to walk up to the little house, when he was suddenly ambushed!

Luigi ran up from behind and launched himself onto Mario's back, hugging him and landing himself a free piggyback ride.

"Holy shih tzu, Luigi. You scared the Italian out of me!" Mario grinned though, as he looked up at his brother.

"Giddyup," Luigi said.

"You're a grown man," Mario pointed out.

"What of it?"

ooo

"So, my characterization means that I can basically have both Mario brothers, if I want," Rosa commented, grabbing the front of Mario's shirt with one hand and the collar of Luigi's with the other.

"Actually, so can I. Apparently I'm also interested in both." Daisy shrugged. "Oh, and maybe Toad."

"This is a total male wish-fulfillment story, isn't it?" asked Rosa.

"Depends on what you mean by wish-fulfillment," said Mario. "If you think all males wish to walk through fire, lose their parents, and be stabbed by the person they trust the most, then…yeah, I guess it is."

"Also if you think all males want to stay unconscious all day," Luigi remarked bitterly.

"They _do_ all want to lay around all day," Rosa said. "Guys are lazy."

"And you see, those gross sexist generalizations are the reason you're not a main character," Luigi replied.

Wario stomped by at that moment, grumbling. "Nothing, nothing at _all_ realistic in this story. Except that Mona's always in the kitchen; at least in this world women know their place…"

The others watched him go.

"Case in point," said Luigi.

ooo

"So do you have any speculations about what the big untold story is about you and Toad being out at night under the stars?" Mario teased. He was sitting on a couch in the lounge, facing Daisy.

Daisy shrugged. "Who knows what the director's planning? Maybe I really was birdwatching the whole time. Wouldn't that just beat all? Maybe there's this type of rare bird, and they only come out at night, and…that would be a stupid and not very well thought out way to resolve that question, wouldn't it? I don't know, maybe Toad and I were whispering sweet nothings under the moonlight and having a super-secret affair."

"Why would it have to be secret?"

"I _don't know,_ Mario. Maybe my dad wouldn't like it. My dad doesn't seem to like anything, so playing that angle probably wouldn't seem like too much of a stretch. Maybe I have to marry royalty, but I'm in love with a poor guard, and—"

"Cliché. And boring. I hope the director doesn't go that route. I bet she will."

Daisy sat back. "So how about you? Any theories about how we got out of the garage?"

Mario shrugged. "Divine intervention."

Daisy sighed. "Meaning deus ex machina?"

"Bingo."

ooo

And then the bomb exploded.

Silence.

"The End," whispered Luigi.

Everyone in the garage cracked up.

"_Cut!_"

ooo

"Oh, I'm so excited that I get to make a debut! _This here is Mona Pizzaaaa,_" Mona sang. "_Makers of the world's best eats-aaaa…_"

"Uh, actually," Ashley muttered. "Take another look at the script."

Mona took the sheaf of papers from the younger girl and looked them over. "_What?_"

Ashley crossed her arms and gave a satisfied nod. "Yup."

"I'm…I'm a painter? Why am I a painter? Like, seriously, what's the point? And what's with the creeping on bird eggs, and why do I act like a housewife to Wario—I'm, like, nineteen, right? And he's like, I don't know, over nine thousand?"

Ashley shrugged. "Beats me. You know how my theme song says that I never comb my hair, 'cause who has time for girly things like that?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, guess what I'm doing in my first appearance in here? Yeah." Ashley made a face.

"Is this our entire scene? You brushing your hair and me…inexplicably painting?" Mona gaped in dismay at the pages in her hand, and desperately flipped through them. "There must be some mistake! I thought this was an action story with lots of gunfights and explosions and stuff like that. This seems about as riveting as—as watching paint dry! Actually, I think watching paint dry would be more interesting; at least it wouldn't be as painful to watch!"

"Harsh." Ashley giggled.

"Well, this really makes me mad! I mean, what, did the director just wake up one morning and decided to take a dump all over canon and present it as art? And did she think that would fool anyone for a second? I honestly feel insulted! My intelligence has been insulted, and I feel unclean just being a part of this unholy, un_godly_ abomination!"

"God plays a role in this story too," Ashley pointed out.

"What, so now the Marios are religious? Oh no, oh no, no, no, now that's going too far. You keep your filthy religion out of my precious childhood video game treasures!"

"The script mentions that you turn out to be more than meets the eye," Ashley said, making a popsicle appear in her hand and licking it—until she realized that, in this universe, she didn't have any magical powers because apparently the director liked to take lots of dumps all over her source material.

"More than meets the eye? Oh, you know what, I'm probably Bowser in disguise! Or, wait for it, it turns out that I was the Blue Assassin all along. Either one of those contrived 'twists' would fit this story."

"Actually," said the director, stepping up to the irate Mona and the rather amused Ashley, "I'd like to set the record straight on that account. I have taken a lot of inspiration from canon, you see. Every change has been with purpose, and I love and respect and totally revere everything that Nintendo—"

"Oh yeah?" The entire cast stepped out from behind various set pieces and surrounded the director.

"Then explain why I had to dye my hair blond," Luigi snapped acidly. "The bleach isn't good for it, you know. It's falling out. You see?" He ripped off his hat to reveal clumps of hair coming off in his hands. "What was the point of changing that?"

The director held up a finger. "Well...you see..."

"Yeah!" chimed in Mario. "And why do I suddenly wear black instead of red? What, is this emo Mario in addition to Grand Theft Mario?"

"Er..."

"And making us mechanics—what, was plumbers just not dignified enough of a job?" Luigi demanded. "And…fedoras? _Why?_ Why can't we just wear our regular hats and overalls?"

"Uh...I-I thought that..."

"And these gray contact lenses are killer!" Daisy said, rubbing bloodshot eyes. "You got something against blue eyes?"

The director smiled nervously as Daisy put her hands on her hips, glaring while she waited for an answer. "Uh..." the director stammered. "Do they...do they really hurt?"

"_Yes,_ they really hurt. Does it looks like I'm faking these inflamed veins?"

"We could order you some better quality contacts."

Dead silence.

Then Daisy exploded, "Are you _slow? _Are you deliberately missing the point? _Why do I even need to wear them in the first place?_"

"Apparently, Miss Director _does_ have some sort of vendetta against blue eyes. I have dark eyes now," Mario told her, rubbing his irritated contact lenses as well.

"As do I," said Rosa. "And you know what else? I also had to dye my hair, as well as get a tan for this part. Why? And what's the point of dividing my name? But not even that, why give me that…that dirty occupation? I am the most dignified character in the game's universe, and you're going to delegate me to common wench? Really?"

"Actually, I kinda like you better this way, to be completely honest," said Mario.

"And seriously, we drive around in a car?" Luigi ranted. "We use guns? Polari's a human?...Antonio and Sophie—who are these people? Obviously, you don't know your canon, or if you know it, you don't respect it."

"Well, I'm not sure that's a fair judgment, 'cause..."

"You know what I think?" Mona added. "I think you just want to be really different to get people's attention, because you're insecure in your writing ability and want to grab people by being as flashy and needlessly different and rebellious as possible."

Ashley shrugged, tilting her head. "I dunno…maybe she's just having fun and experimenting." The others all turned to look at the little girl. "I mean," Ashley continued, "maybe you shouldn't be so mad. I'm sure she looks at Nintendo with affection."

"You know," said Mario quietly, touched, "I…I don't think I've ever thought of it that way before."

"So you'll accept the changes to canon now and hear me out?" the director asked excitedly.

"Nope." Mario pulled out the gun that he possessed in this universe and pointed it at the director's forehead with the perfect aim he had in this universe.

The director should have known that equipping Mario thus was going to backfire. "Uh oh."

Mario pulled the trigger and the director flopped to the ground, smoke rising from the bullet hole in her forehead.

"Well, now that that's over, who feels like going out for pizza?" asked Mona.

"I'm in—well, maybe not." Mario frowned. "I don't even know if I like Italian food in this universe. I probably don't. Everything _else_ has changed, why not that?"

"Mario." Mona reached way up to put her hands on Mario's shoulders. "I know you've lived under the command of that terrible dictator for so long. But she doesn't have power over you anymore. You're free to be a short, fat Italian plumber from New York or the Mushroom Kingdom, depending on which canon you want to follow. You're free to eat mushrooms and grow bigger and to fight dumb turtles who walk back and forth. Free to say 'Mama mia' as frequently and obnoxiously as you choose. She's dead, Mario. You're free."

"Not quite!" said the director, who jumped back up, and scared the living daylights out of everyone there.

Except Ashley. Ashley was busy playing jacks. By herself. She was a very lonely child.

"How did you survive a shot to the head? No one survives a shot to the head!" Mario gaped.

"Lemme guess…God made you better," Luigi guessed caustically.

"Well, I'm not better exactly. As you can see, I still have a somewhat large hole in my forehead and blood is leaking out of it at a rather alarming rate..."

"You're a _zombie!_" Daisy guessed. "That's it, isn't it?"

Mario laughed. "Oh, Daisy. Don't be silly. Even Miss Director wouldn't do something as out of place and needlessly unconventional as writing a Mario story with zombies in it. Right, Miss Director?"

The director cleared her throat. "Anyway, I'm not a zombie. **jakeroo123** very helpfully pointed out to me that a shot to the middle of the forehead doesn't necessarily kill you."

The cast all looked at one another.

"Who's jakeroo123?" asked Rosa.

"Not a clumsy way to give an appreciative author's note shout out to a reviewer or anything." The director's eyes looked shiftily back and forth. "Shame on you for implying such a thing."

"Wait. So there really is an audience for this? People _review_ this?" Luigi was shocked.

"Tell me more about these mysterious people you speak of," said Mario, intrigued.

"Oh! Okay. Well, there's **TruetobeBlue,**who left some really insightful feedback and has been friendly, funny, and helpful ever since we became acquainted, **Luigisgirlfriend**—"

"Oh, really?" asked Luigi, interested.

"Yeah. She always left interesting reactions, and I could count on her enthusiasm, intelligence, and excitability to spur me on to the next chapter. There's **Verran,** who inspired me to pick this story off the ground after the four-chapter mark when I was thinking about discontinuing it. I never told her that she did that for me, but she did. She also inspired me to become a more active participant on the website where I post this story. Also, **mabpanda **was there as support and gave me a really clear idea about how certain parts were affecting the reader and what sort of questions I was intentionally and sometimes unintentionally raising. **GaapsReincarnation** I could rely on for genuine first impressions, **Jackall Hides** made me feel special and important, almost as special and important as she is to me, and **Falcon Jester** had an interesting and unique way of looking at things that in many ways opened my mind to things I hadn't really seen before, even within my own work. **ThatNintendoFangirl** gave the story a chance after quite a bit of it had passed, and she had so many intelligent questions as well as inferences and analyses that she brought to the table. And then there's **Hopefaith2, **who was a reader from the very first chapter and never abandoned me, which was quite spectacular to hear. **Tune4Toons** was another latecomer who patiently went through every single chapter and gave me specific feedback for each stage of the story so far, and she is incredible, intelligent, and insightful, and I love her to death and hope she stays."

"You have such a little audience that you have time to mention them all here," Mario pointed out.

"Excuse me? That's quite a substantial audience, and even if it wasn't, I'll take quality over quantity any day. And I happen to have the very best group of reviewers in the world, so I really have no complaints," the director explained.

"Too bad you can't give them a quality story..." said Mario.

The director flashed Mario a rude hand signal. Like a thumbs up, only with a different finger. Which meant, like, the opposite of thumbs up.

"Classy," said Mario.

"Oh no you didn't just use my own lines against me!" The director started to get angry as all the cast members snickered at her. "I am your director! I gave you lines. I created you!"

"Actually, no you didn't. Nintendo did. You just can't be bothered to come up with original ideas, so you use a ready-made template. And you can't even stick to the basic Nintendo characterization. You're just an all-around loser," Mario concluded. "Like, you can't even get canon Nintendo characterization right? It's not hard."

"Oh, whatever, Mario. My reviewers seem okay with it." The director smiled goofily at the memory of all these delightful people.

Mario shot her in the head again. Second time's the charm. The director twitched, so Mario shot her again. And then again for good measure.

"Thank goodness, I thought she'd never shut up," Luigi complained. "How boring and long and obvious was that? It's pathetic how she grovels and falls all over herself in gratitude for these people."

"Well, if I wrote something… like _this,_ and people actually spent their time reading it and even _commenting_, I'd be endlessly grateful too," Rosa said, to be fair. "If you think about it, she was really lucky to get all that support."

"Yeah. I guess so. So." Luigi prodded the director with his foot. "What now?"

"Dance party?" Mona suggested.

Mario shrugged. "I'm in. This is a good enough reason as any to party."

The lights dimmed and a disco ball lowered from the ceiling and slowly rotated, casting strobe lights all over the cast and the cadaver.

Just then, like an angelic chorus descending from the heavens, David Bowie's voice blasted from speakers. "_I saw my baaabeh, trying hard as babe could try…_"

"_What could I do-o-o?_" sang Luigi.

"_My baby's love had gone, and left my baby blu-u-ue!_" Mario joined in with Luigi, putting his arm around his brother.

"_Nobody knew!_" belted out Rosa and Daisy.

The whole cast joined in.

"_What kind of magic spell to use._"

"_Slime and snails, puppy dog tails,_" sang Ashley.

"_Thunder or lightning,_" Mona cut in. "_Then baby said—_"

And then everyone again, the boys singing the main chorus while the girls provided backup vocals. "_Dance magic dance, dance magic dance! Put that baby spell on me. Jump magic jump, jump magic jump. Put that magic jump on me. Slap that baby, make him free—!_"

The cast sang along to eighties songs and danced the night away.

**Note:** No directors were harmed in the making of this blooper reel.


	14. Confidence

Chapter Twelve: Confidence

Ashley sat up with a start, her head whipping immediately to the window. It took a while for her breathing to return to normal. She clutched her stuffed bunny close, trying to forget the images that wouldn't stop flitting through her head.

She jumped at a sharp noise outside her door. A glance at her bedside clock revealed in glowing digital red numbers that it was nearly three in the morning. She looked nervously around at the door, seeing the pitch-black hallway looming behind it in her mind's eye. Normally she wasn't one of those people who was afraid of the dark—honestly, she wasn't—but she hadn't lived in this house all that long, and she wasn't used to nighttime here. It was obvious that this house hadn't been furnished with children in mind. There wasn't even a sliver of light on in the hallway.

_Clang!_ The strange noise persisted.

In spite of herself, Ashley was curious. Old houses made all sorts of sounds, but the house of Wario Ware was as new and technologically advanced as could be. Some part of her mind, a natural child's overactive imagination combined with a horror novel aficionado's love of the grotesque and macabre, feared ghouls and monsters. But another part of her snapped that there was a logical reason behind that troubling noise.

She kicked off her covers and summoned her courage, gripping the bunny in her fist. Slowly she eased her way down the dark hallway, feeling in front of her tentatively before taking each step in case of unseen obstacles.

The source of the racket came from behind a closed door that Ashley thought she remembered was a guest room from the cursory "tour" Wario had given when she had come to live here in his residence. In any case, she saw a sliver of light under the door and couldn't help the feeling of relief the break in the darkness lit inside of her. It almost dissipated her apprehension of finding out what was making that sound.

She took a deep breath as she turned the knob and then, squeezing her eyes shut, pushed the door open. Nothing happened for a long moment, so Ashley opened her eyes. Then they widened, and she dropped her bunny, forgetting to feel afraid.

The walls were covered from top to bottom with intricate blueprints…of what, Ashley could only begin to guess. But she could tell that she was looking at an original invention, one which had never been created, something grand, something that must have been conceived by no less than a scientific and mathematical genius…

And then she looked up. And her eyes met Mona's.

For a second, they just stared at each other: the girl in her simple shift with a stuffed rabbit at her bare feet and the woman in a makeshift harness connected to the ceiling, wielding a paintbrush and sporting blue splotches on her face.

Mona tried to move and the harness complained loudly in a creak again. Finally she smiled at Ashley. "What are you doing up so late?"

Ashley was still staring. It looked like Mona had fixed a chain of thin wire, possibly from hangers, to the smoke detector on the ceiling and then made a seat for herself using various fabrics—from blankets, from curtains, even from some of her own clothes. And she was using this harness to paint on the ceiling to finish the blueprint. Beside Mona's harness was a second smaller one carrying a pail which was presumably full of blue paint.

"You know," Ashley said, "the point of a blueprint is to design something on a _lower_ scale."

Mona dropped her paintbrush into the pail beside her, loosened the fabric from the wire so that her seat was deconstructed, and carefully climbed down the rope that resulted. Presently she found herself in front of Ashley.

Ashley had her hands on her hips, trying to process this strange woman-child and her late-night antics. She had so many questions, so many things she wanted to say, but somehow it seemed too absurd to talk about this rather unique situation aloud. She ended up saying lamely, "You woke me up."

"Sorry!" Mona was quick to apologize. "No one's ever woken up before, but then again, this is the first time I've used the ceiling." She sighed, looking up at her incomplete painting. "I still don't think that'll be enough room, but I still have the floor."

Ashley was still in awe. As scornful as she felt toward Mona, there was no denying her resourcefulness. And the designs Mona had painted were so intricate and carefully crafted. She had skill with a brush. In addition, she was more subdued than usual, making her tolerable.

Mona yawned, rubbing at dark circles under her eyes. Which explained the uncharacteristic quiet. How long had she been working on this? Ashley couldn't even begin to hazard a guess.

"I'm about done for now anyway," Mona said. "Again, sorry to have woken you. Anything I can get you before we both go back to bed?"

Ashley picked her bunny up and looked up at Mona. "I don't think I'm going to be able to get back to sleep," she said plainly. "I rarely do when I wake up at night."

"Really?" Mona's response was dull. She looked toward the door, obviously wanting nothing less than another caustic conversation. "I—I'm sorry, really, but maybe you could at least try to get some sleep?"

Ashley bit her lip. "Actually, I was wondering, could I—could we, maybe, drink some hot chocolate together?"

Mona was stunned out of her lethargy. She nodded slowly, wiping her hands on slacks. "Sure. That would be—yes," she stammered, already starting to lead the way to the kitchen.

Ashley took a seat on a stool as she watched Mona bustle around, preparing the drinks. She was surprised that Mona wasn't chattering away while she was at it. For a while, Ashley soaked in the silence. She loved that special silence that only occurred at the dead of night, when the world was sleeping and everyone was secluded. It felt as Ashley imagined a world before society had felt. Beautiful.

And, of course, the best secrets were revealed in the dead of night, whispered, behind closed doors. At least, that's the way it always went in her novels. She swung her legs back and forth, and finally spoke up. "That thing you were painting, it seemed really complicated."

"Hm," Mona answered noncommittally.

Ashley frowned. "I liked it," she said. "I didn't understand it, but I liked it. Or I think I did."

Mona turned around to face Ashley, her jaw slack. Then she grinned, and finally looked like herself again. She simply nodded her thanks after a moment, and then turned back around to finish what she was doing.

For her part, Ashley was starting to reassess Mona. She could do more than just create garish eyesores, that was for sure. And she had agreed to make hot chocolate despite how tired she appeared, so there was that. Ashley didn't know why, but somehow she found herself asking, "What exactly is Wario to you? I never really asked."

Mona brought over two steaming mugs, handing one down to Ashley and sitting on the floor beside her. "Be careful, it's hot," she warned, blowing on her own cup.

Ashley rolled her eyes. "I _know_ that." She waited, almost more interested in Mona's answer than in her chocolate.

"Well," Mona said, avoiding Ashley's eyes, "he's my boss."

_How anticlimactic._ Ashley stared into her cup, disappointed. "That's it?"

Mona's eyes flashed to her. "Well, what is he to _you?_" she asked, a defensive tone edging into her voice.

"My…caretaker. For the moment."

Mona smiled, knowingly. "And that's all?"

Ashley frowned, wanting to wipe that smirk off of Mona's face. Well, of course that wasn't all. He was also heir to The Ware-House, rich beyond belief without needing to work a day in his life, obsessive beyond belief when it came to the Marios and his conspiracy theory—a sad, spoiled, crazy individual if Ashley had ever known one, and a sorry replacement for the parents she had lost. And yet, he had taken her in when she had no one, had seen to it that her cat got to stay with her, had made sure she had everything she could ever want. He could be so kind. Sometimes he even seemed normal.

"I live with Wari because my parents kicked me out of the house," Mona explained, taking a sip and making a face. "Ugh. Burned my tongue."

Ashley nearly choked. That was the way Mona operated, springing something like that nonchalantly. "I didn't know that!"

Mona glanced over, raising an eyebrow at Ashley's sudden rapt attention. She honestly looked as if she couldn't tell what had caused such surprise. "Well, it's true. I wanted to work as an engineer at The Ware-House, but Mama didn't approve. She thinks it has a dangerous monopoly, too much bearing in politics and things like that. And her opinion of Wari is less than favorable. Papa didn't care too much about all that, but he said he was sad to see me wasting my artistic talent by not pursuing a career as a painter."

Ashley took a quick sip, mulling that over. Mona's mother seemed almost as bad as the man she despised; whereas Wario was paranoid that the Marios had too much power and would take over the world with it, Mona's mother thought that Wario himself was overpowered and had big plans of worldwide dominance.

The craziest part about it was, both loons were right.

"You know," said Ashley, "with most people, that situation is reversed. Parents discourage their children from trying to make a living as an artist. And they look well on high-paying jobs like engineering for the wealthiest company in the world."

She didn't say how impressed she was that Mona apparently had a résumé impressive enough to earn her a job in that particular corporation. It was common knowledge that they only hired the best of the best.

"No wonder you grew up backward," Ashley continued, shaking her head.

Mona chuckled. The warm drink seemed to have revitalized her some. "Backward, huh? That just might be true." Her shoulders relaxed and she stretched out her legs, contented. "It was a surprise when you offered to talk. We really haven't done that much since you've been here. Have we?"

Rather than answer, Ashley fiddled with her hair. She took a deep breath and then blurted out, "You didn't wake me up."

"Beg pardon?" Mona tilted her head.

"It was a dream. Or…or, a memory, I don't know. I heard glass breaking. I thought it was the window—" Ashley was aware by now she was babbling, and she prided herself on her unruffled demeanor, so she stopped and tried to gather her thoughts. But they were muddled, unrelated concepts zigzagging their way through her brain.

Art. Silence. Parents. Darkness. Lost. And always the ostensibly playful tinkling that heralded the shattering of glass. The loudest sound followed by the loudest silence. And then, for some reason, all she could think about was blue. How very blue that painted guest room had been. She tried to speak but her tongue felt thick. Maybe she was going to nod off after all. She must've been more tired than she thought.

She looked at Mona, but her features were blurred. Her normally bright blue eyes looked back. Blue, she thought, was a deceptive color.

"Sorry," she vaguely heard Mona say, but she didn't sound sorry at all, or like Mona. "I had to do it. Maybe this'll teach you not to go poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

And then the whole world was blue.

Before it faded to black.


	15. Tested

Chapter Thirteen: Tested

Mario chuckled softly, warmth spreading out through his abdomen where his brother had plunged the knife. He felt hands on his back, and then with fuzzy vision, he saw Luigi's face, utterly stricken.

"Mario…God…" Luigi began, his voice choked.

"H-has noth-ing to do with it," Mario said matter-of-factly, smirking. The coughs marring his speech made specks of blood dot his lips.

It was an odd feeling, dying. Of course, the knowledge of mortality was always in the back of his mind. It was all around; it was a given that life was a constant gamble of give and take. Humans could not have flourished without the destruction of the Dragons; and human children, too, required the loss of the parents. Death was familiar, an everyday occurrence as ubiquitous as the air he breathed. Dying felt a little like greeting an old friend.

Death was nothing. It was expected, the norm. It was life that was truly extraordinary. Chase and Minnie Mario would have been normal if they had succumbed to the human sickness that plagued all of humanity, but they had overcome it. In spite of all logic, they had lived. And Mario, well, he had made a name for himself too, because through all the crazy schemes organizations and gangs had devised to steal away the Princess, somehow, he had always come through. That was the thing about Marios. They were survivors. And purely _by_ surviving, they had become special.

So there was a part of him that expected to pull through, even this. Despite the reality of the knife in his stomach, he was Mario Mario. He had made up his mind not to die, and yet…like any other man, he was fading away.

He closed his eyes, not out of acceptance, but because it was too much effort to keep them open. Besides, maybe it was better that he didn't have to see the pain in Luigi's face any longer. It was a pity he'd spent his last days bringing trouble to Luigi's life, and now his ultimate act was no exception. What a shame…he'd only wanted them to be together again. Perhaps that'd been too much to ask; perhaps he'd been selfish and arrogant and foolish. Mario had this nasty habit of asking too much.

Was it…also too much to ask that he continue to exist in some form, after this? He felt too tired to pursue this thread of thought, his consciousness slowly unraveling as his pain lessened. Questions about God and the possibility of an afterlife only seemed to come up when someone was dying, but in his current state, they were questions too big for him to grasp. And anyway, there was no use wondering now; he supposed…in a few moments…he would find out for sure.

Mario was suddenly jostled and something was pressed against his lips. He heard his name, faintly, too high-pitched to be Luigi, too low-pitched to be Princess Daisy, so—the newcomer to the group, then? Somehow Mario found it in himself to be surprised. He would not have expected _her_ of all people to be calling his name with such desperation in his final moments.

But that wasn't all; she was saying something else, and the small, hard object pressed with more vehemence against his mouth.

He focused on the words Rosa was saying.

"Eat…eat it, Mario. Please."

The woman thought it was necessary to poison him _now?_ Well, why not? Perhaps it was a mercy kill, a way to speed up the process. Mario felt her pulling the cold steel out of him, and immediately, the warmth spreading with more insistence over his abdomen. Which meant that he'd bleed out quicker anyway. Without any options left to him, Mario opened his mouth obediently and chewed.

He froze, his jaw locked in place. In shock, his eyes flew back open. He saw Rosa leaning beside him, with a look on her face as if she'd just tasted something terrible.

Luigi's voice came, shockingly loud and clear, "You fed him one of those _drugs?_"

"Get over yourself," Rosa scoffed, peering into Mario's face intently. "Would you rather he died?"

Mario's eyes widened. Something wonderful was flowing over his tongue, something warm and comforting. He couldn't detect any one flavor; whenever he thought he'd discerned what this mystery substance tasted like, it changed to something different, something even better. He was afraid to swallow, reluctant for the savory tang to leave his mouth.

The warmth was spreading through his body, infused in his very veins. But it wasn't the warmth of spilled blood; in fact—

Mario gingerly probed his stomach. His fingers came up wet; the blood was still there, of course, but—there was no wound! There was no wound! Mario didn't know how it had happened, but he couldn't find it in himself to question. He was too giddy, drunk on the notion that what had almost happened had not ultimately come to be. He had time now to look after Luigi and find the Princess.

The Princess! That was enough to make Mario swallow, although as soon as he did, he abjectly missed the taste of the whatever-it-had-been. It had been as close to Heaven as he was willing to reach at the moment.

He rose to his feet. Luigi was there at his side with a steadying arm, expecting Mario to be weakened and need assistance, but Mario stood tall on his own.

No one spoke. Each person was lost in his own thoughts, and they might have stayed like that for hours, but Mario smiled and broke the silence. "Guess now we've got something to talk about while we head for my car."

"Mario—" Luigi began.

"Oh, and Luigi," Mario cut him off. "Good work."

"I—"

"I didn't think you had it in you," Mario continued, seriously studying Rosa and Daisy's faces before his expression gave way to a broad grin. "But you really got that knife in there, just like we planned."

"Just like _what?_" Daisy gaped, looking from Luigi's kicked-puppy expression to Mario's amused one. She decided, all things considered, that she was angrier at Mario. "What's the matter with you? Do you think that's some kind of prank? I don't know who to slap first!"

Rosa was still. Then, turning away from the brothers, she picked up her box, replacing the lid before Mario had a chance to clearly see what had been inside. He didn't even remember Rosa opening it. Maybe whatever he had eaten had come from that box.

Now Rosa was looking directly at Luigi. "You tricked us. Why?"

Luigi opened his mouth, but Mario quickly jumped in. "Just a little loyalty test. We needed to see how you'd react if you thought I was dying and Luigi here"—Here he slung an arm around Luigi's shoulders—"was defenseless, and possibly unhinged because of jealousy of his braver, famous, stronger—"

"Shorter," Luigi mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Mario let go of Luigi and shoved him a little away. He turned back to the girls and finished, "Older brother." He looked over at Luigi. "And by the way, Luigi, would you hand me my knife? Since I pushed you over there."

Luigi made a face at Mario, but obliged, picking up the knife and wiping the blood off on his pants.

"You shouldn't worry, though," Mario continued to the girls. "He isn't really crazy. He doesn't even _carry_ weapons, so if he ever really wanted to knock me off, he'd have to do it with his bare hands." Mario chuckled. "And I'd _really_ like to see him try. I mean, you should've seen the way he acted when I had him just hold a gun for a second…it was—"

"Mario," Daisy interrupted, and her tone immediately made Mario's jovial mood vanish. She didn't seem angry anymore. Instead, she sounded tired, almost defeated. Her head was lowered so that he couldn't see her eyes, but by the way her shoulders were trembling, Mario guessed that she was in tears or close to it. "Mario." Her voice, though, was surprisingly steady and strong. "How did you know you would survive?"

Luigi was looking at Daisy in concern as he handed the knife to Mario.

"But—" Rosa started, and then closed her mouth again.

Mario looked at her sharply, closing his hand around the hilt, and pausing before he deposited the weapon into his pocket. "Yes?"

"Nothing," Rosa said. "Never mind."

"Well?" Daisy said, raising her head. When Mario looked back at her, he discovered that her eyes were not only dry, but blazing with all her emotions.

He smiled at her, and was a little unnerved when she did not return the smile. "I told Weege exactly where to stab me. I'd been stabbed there before, you see, and I knew it would look fatal to the untrained eye, but I'd be able to recover all right. It's just my luck that I'm able to bypass the recovery period altogether," he said, inclining his head toward Rosa. "And that's as good a transition as any for you to explain what you fed me."

Mario started to walk in the direction of Ernie's, and Luigi joined him, but nothing followed the two except silence. No footsteps, and definitely no explanation from Rosa. Mario turned around.

"Well, come on. We need to leave now. It's getting late. I want to get my car before the shop closes."

"You were right, Mario." Daisy's sentence came out only a little louder than a breath, and Mario reluctantly returned to where the girls were still standing.

"What?"

"You were right!" Daisy screamed, clutching the front of Mario's shirt and trying in vain to shake him. "Is that what you want to hear from me?" She gave up on shaking him and just clutched him, leaning her head wearily against his chest.

Mario said nothing, but let her stay there, looking down at her auburn head with quiet shame coursing through him.

"I shouldn't come with you. I've lived as a princess my whole life. And as much as I'd like to make a difference, what do I really know about the world? The fights you face every day? Your brushes with death? You act like that stunt was nothing, but I froze up—I didn't know what to do! I'm…untrained, like you said. As I am now…as I am now, I'd be useless to you!" She took her head from his shirt and looked up at him, wide eyes imploring him to disagree. "Is that right? Is that the reason you didn't want me along? Is that the real reason you 'tested' me, to teach me that I'm not as strong as I thought?"

Mario couldn't find his voice. In that moment, Daisy reminded him so much of Luigi that it hurt. It seemed he could not enter an innocent person's life without shattering that innocence.

"I—" Mario began, swallowing.

"I know what I should do," Daisy said, tightening her grip on Mario's shirt. "I should go back to my mom and dad, beg forgiveness, tell my dad he was right all along…" She let go of Mario, and, turning her face up, smiled the same sunny smile he was used to seeing on her face, one that he had unconsciously accepted that he would never see again. "And then, get Toad to train me. So that one day I can rejoin you, and I won't be untrained anymore. So I can actually be a help."

"You changed your mind about coming with us?" Luigi asked, frowning. "But you _never_ change your mind."

Mario looked at Daisy, considering her determined stature. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Whether Father considers me a princess or not, my duty is to my castle. I have to help rebuild, and keep peace in my province. And Toad is the best guard we had. I'm sure I'll learn a lot from him."

After a moment, Mario gave a sharp nod.

"So," Daisy said, stepping back from the other three, "good luck. Until we meet again."

"Wait, one thing before you go," Mario said, placing a hand on Daisy's shoulder.

"Hm?"

"What _were_ you and Toad doing out in the middle of the night anyway? I've been curious about that for quite some time now."

Daisy snickered. "Well, I hope you didn't think _too_ hard about it. It's as I told you: birdwatching."

"In the middle of the night? Really?" Mario raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe I should've been more specific, but no one ever gave me time to elaborate. Specifically, owls. I watch the Owl Migration from the forest every year. Every year without fail, all the owls rise to the skies like one huge mass—oh, it's beautiful."

Mario took one look at her sparkling eyes and noted the gushing that had crept into her voice, and said dryly, "You know, somehow I think I believe you now."

"Well, if you ever watched it, you'd know why I react the way I do. Anyway, Toad was worried about me going out into the forest alone so he came with me. And go figure, the woods really weren't safe that night." Daisy shrugged. "That's all. Sorry if you imagined some great mystery. I know this must be very anticlimactic to you."

"No, no," Mario said, raising his hands in protestation. "I could do with a little straightforwardness in my life."

"Well, you three should get going. If you hurry, you might make it to the car before closing time. Go on, get a move on," Daisy urged.

"Good luck with your training, Daisy," Luigi said, turning towards the west, the direction for the Garage. In a way, it would be like racing against the setting sun. "Next time I see you, I expect you to be strong enough to kick Mario around enough that he'll pay for scaring you like that."

"As if you had nothing to do with it? Don't think you'll be off the hook either, mister. When I come back, I'll kick both of you around for a while!" Daisy promised, and laughed as she disappeared back into Polari's house.

Luigi gulped. "What a woman. Huh, Mario?"

Mario looked after her, unable to pin down his feelings about Daisy. But he supposed that was just fine, as Daisy herself could not easily fit into any one category. Defeated one moment, but looking on the bright side the next, able to weather traumatic experiences without deadening herself to emotion to preserve her sanity, Daisy was as vulnerable and sheltered a person as he'd ever seen, but she also had a spirit not easily broken.

"Yeah," Mario agreed. "What a woman." He turned. "Now let's go get my car. We're going to go fast, so don't worry," he said, looking at Rosa, "if you can't keep up. Just try to catch up quickly."

With that warning, he started barreling down the street, Luigi keeping up next to him. Some part of Mario still expected pain from his stomach where he'd been stabbed, but there was nothing of the sort. He turned to his other side, and saw Rosa also keeping up, effortlessly. She wasn't puffing, or even breaking a sweat, and she bounded beside them, using powerful, long legs to lengthen her natural strides. She ran almost as if she was dancing. Mario used his strength to propel himself forward while he ran, pumping his arms as much as he could and slightly hunching forward to limit wind resistance. It was a practical way to achieve speed, but not at all appealing to look at. Luigi just sort of…flailed. He had no specific form, but his strength and height gave him the physical advantage he needed to keep up with Mario. But Rosa seemed to have no problem diminishing wind resistance, nor did she use any form that Mario could see for lengthening endurance. Her good-looking run by all means should be impractical—and yet, she was keeping up with ease.

She laughed, and adding insult to injury, she didn't sound out of breath. "I thought you said your speed would be a challenge to match."

Mario didn't bother to answer. Maybe Rosa didn't have to worry about breath control when she ran, but Mario did. Instead, he devoted his energy to thinking furiously. Daisy may have needed training, but Rosa has obviously gone through more intense training than I thought. Just how good of a fighter is she…?

Mario stopped in his tracks when he saw the large, red, capital letters on the glass door, spelling out "CLOSED." He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't even realized they'd made it to the Garage. But, despite their best efforts, they were too late. Mario stepped back from the door, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Another setback, but then again, at least it wasn't as violent as the others had been. Still, he almost preferred the violence. He hated waiting and feeling helpless.

Luigi slumped to the ground, sitting with his back against the door. "I can't believe this."

Mario sat beside him, muttering, "Right outside a garage again."

Luigi made a face. "Heh."

"Just trying to ease the tension with a little trademark Mario humor. It's not my fault you have the sense of humor of cardboard," Mario retorted.

Luigi looked up at Rosa, who was still standing, towering over the two of them. "You can sit if you want. We'll just have to wait until this place opens back up."

"Out here?" Rosa questioned. "Couldn't we go find shelter?"

"That depends." Mario crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back lazily, watching the sun as it dipped lower, towards the horizon. "Do you have shelter money?"

Rosa smiled. "As a matter of fact…"

Not more than ten minutes later, the three were in the lobby of an inn across the street. Mario looked around, surprised at the obvious high quality of the establishment. It was no palace, but Mario had expected Rosa to lead them someplace crummy and third-rate.

"Are you sure you can afford this place?" Mario muttered to Rosa.

"I feel like I should've cleaned up before presenting myself here," Luigi said, morosely trying to wipe the grime on his face, and only succeeding in smudging it.

"You don't have anything to complain about," Mario grouched, touching his face, which he could feel from the lumpy texture was still burnt; Rosa's miracle cure hadn't taken that away. He put his hands over his bloodstained shirt, but the stain was too large for him to cover.

"I know the innkeeper here," Rosa said. "I give him business so many times a week that he gives me a discount. My line of work _does_ have its benefits. And it pays well too."

She stalked up to the innkeeper.

"My, my, Rosa Lina," he said, when he looked up. "My favorite customer has returned! I had wondered where you'd been these past days."

"Busy." Rosa leaned over the counter and planted a kiss on the innkeeper's reddening cheek. "You're looking well as ever, Ty. Two rooms for one night, if you please."

"Two?" Ty's bushy eyebrows rose. He looked around and smiled knowingly. "Ah. You are entertaining two clients tonight then, yes?"

Rosa just smiled. "How much will it be?"

Ty named a price that made Luigi almost choke.

"That's a _discount?_" he asked, flabbergasted.

But Rosa placed down the money in full, watching as Ty grabbed it with stubby fingers, carefully counted it, and deposited it into the register.

"Thank you for your business, Miss Lina." Ty grinned.

Rosa shot a bleak smile back.

Ty grabbed two keys from pegs behind him. "Your rooms are 69 and 70." He plunked the keys into Rosa's waiting palm.

"Nice doing business with you again." Rosa turned and started walking down a hallway, beckoning Mario and Luigi to follow.

When they reached the two rooms, Rosa turned and handed Mario the key to room 70. "You boys can stay in there, and I'll take the other. Sorry, but there'll only be one bed in there. It would've looked too suspicious if I'd asked for a two-bedder. I'm sure you two can figure it out."

"Thanks," said Luigi emphatically. "You really helped us out."

"Let's not go to sleep just yet," Mario said, cutting short the goodbyes and good-nights that were just on the brink of fruition. "Rosa, why don't you come into our room with us for a while? I don't think anyone's really ready to sleep yet, and we have a lot to talk about and a bunch of free time to do it in. I see no reason to waste this opportunity."

Mario could tell in the stiffening of Rosa's body that she recognized the unspoken challenge, even if clueless Luigi was now saying, "Yeah, that is a good idea actually! It'd be great if we got to know each other better."

"All right," said Rosa, not taking her eyes from Mario, "let's all get to know each other."

Mario unlocked the door to room 70. "After you. Ladies first."

He and Luigi followed her in, and the door to room 70 slithered to a close behind them.


	16. Insecurity

Chapter Fourteen: Insecurity

The door, or what was left of it, opened slowly with a creak that made Polari wince. He bowed to the king and queen and hurried out of the backroom, coughing as his footsteps kicked up dust. He really could do with a woman's touch around here; all this dust surely wasn't good for his aging lungs. It depressed him. He felt as old, dusty, and fragile as the house.

"Rosa?" he wheezed, walking out into the living space. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Is that you? Did you—"

He stopped as he caught sight of mischievous gray eyes and bushy hair. Princess Daisy faced him with a grin.

"Not quite. Sorry to disappoint you, mister." She glanced around and spotted a discarded towel that had landed on the floor in all the confusion. "Ah! I hope you don't mind if I use that?"

"N-not at all, Princess." Polari was still gaping at her.

Daisy plucked the towel from the floor and patted some of the dirt, blood, and smoke residue from her face and hair. She sighed in pleasure. "With everything happening so fast, I guess I forgot about the little things." She turned to Polari. "It'll be nice to take a shower." Her stomach took that moment to let loose with an unearthly noise somewhere between the dying squeal of a pig and a clap of thunder. Her face colored as she patted her stomach. "As well as get something to eat."

Polari scratched his head, squinting at Daisy with a perplexed expression on his face. "Did I miss something? I don't mean to be rude, but why are you back here?" Another thought seemed to come to him, and he grabbed at Daisy's arm with roughness that alarmed her. "Did Rosa do something to make you change your mind?"

Daisy yanked her arm from the old man's skeletal fingers, trying to suppress a shiver. Somehow she hadn't expected his hands to feel as they did—hard and cold, they reminded her of ice or…or, she hated to think of it, but…death. The little she had seen of Polari prior had given her the impression of a rough and curmudgeonly man, but not without a grandfatherly side. He seemed fond of Rosa, and his chosen profession was a healer. When Daisy thought of healer's hands, she thought of something warm, gentle, comforting…

What was she doing? She was overthinking things. Of course Polari was concerned about Rosa, and he had just grabbed her harder than he intended in an expression of that concern. She knew better than to judge people for shallow reasons like the way they looked, or the way they dressed, or…the way their hands felt, so why was her gut warning her about Polari now with such insistence?

Her smile faltered, and she cleared her throat. "Rosa? No. She didn't do anything. I…I just realized that…uh…that my father was right after all." For some reason, she felt it necessary to conceal Mario and Luigi's stunt from Polari. She bit her tongue to keep from blurting out the truth. It was a nasty habit, the way she instinctually said almost everything that came to mind. Well, except… "Oh!"

Polari looked at her, suspicion clear on his lined face.

Daisy clasped her hands together. "Are Toad and my parents still in your backroom? I need to speak with them right away."

"Be my guest." Polari bowed, gesturing the way.

There was only one thing she was certain of at that moment. Turning her back on this man would be a very bad idea.

"Go ahead," she said, examining him carefully.

His face lifted, and he straightened up. "Actually, Princess, I think I'll stay out here and start straightening up out here. Your parents don't require any more of my services at the moment. Besides, it seems like your reunion might be better served as a private event?"

Daisy frowned. Why was he protesting going first? It only seemed to prove her…admittedly baseless suspicions right.

"Daisy?" her mother's voice rang out from the other room. "Is that you I hear?"

"Mom!" Daisy turned towards that room, her smile returning full-force despite her best efforts. The queen sounded so much stronger now. Despite her present misgivings, Daisy couldn't help the surge of gratitude toward Polari engulfing her. She turned back toward Polari. "Have my parents discussed the issue of payment with you yet?"

Polari's eyes glinted. "Not in detail, Princess."

Daisy looked back and forth across the clutter that the living room had become, but she had a lot of difficulty discerning any specific items. Used to the order of her palace, a messy area tended to blend together in her mind. She sighed. This miniature warzone reminded her of Luigi's place as it was normally. A dismal thought. "Do you have any paper and something to write with?"

"Somewhere," Polari answered. "Want me to go find it while you go talk with your parents?"

Daisy hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. That would be fine."

She waited until Polari had disappeared into another room, and then took a deep breath as she faced that ominous closed door. Her stomach lurched, this time not out of hunger. She straightened her shoulders and held her head high, just as she had always been taught to carry herself. Her father's will and her own had clashed many times over the years, and it was silly to be frightened as if she was still a child. Besides, she had been willing to go off on a dangerous mission just minutes ago, and yet she was standing with this door separating her from her father and feeling apprehensive about breaching that boundary.

She shook her head to clear it. _Come on, Daisy. It was just a fight, nothing more._

But…he had disowned her. In a moment, he had negated all the years he had spent raising her, and denounced her as no closer to him than any stranger on the street. That was more than anything she'd ever dealt with.

And she had been trying to stave it off, but truthfully, it hurt. It hurt as much as if _she_ had been stabbed through the gut instead of Mario.

Mario. Daisy remembered his single-minded determination to tear up this whole wide world if he had to in order to find the Princess, his recklessness in his meeting with her father, his willingness to run through a fire for her parents, and even his bravery in being stabbed for the sake of a test.

If he could do all that, then surely, this should be nothing. Taking another stabilizing breath, she took hold of the doorknob and stepped inside.

She was greeted by a wall of suffocating silence. King Antonio was helping an unstable Queen Sophie to her feet, and Toad was nearby, watching with his hands folded. Of course, Daisy thought with some amusement, her father had probably ordered Toad not to help. He always wanted to do things himself. Typical.

With Daisy's return, they had frozen in place, staring at her. Antonio had his arm bent around Sophie, and Sophie's legs were in mid-swing over the side of the bed, but the two were as still as statues. Daisy knew she would have found the effect comical if it wasn't for the nervousness squirming about in her stomach.

Antonio was the first to recover. He finished pulling Sophie to her feet, more roughly than Daisy ever remembered him handling her.

Sophie tossed a glare at Antonio, pushing his arm away and steadying herself. "Daisy! I thought I heard you." She advanced toward her daughter slowly, a smile spreading across her face. Putting her hands on her hips, she looked Daisy up and down. "Now, if there's anything I know, it's that there must be some spectacular story to explain _you_ changing your mind."

Antonio came up and stood beside his wife. "Maybe she finally developed some sense." He turned away, avoiding Daisy's gaze. "I doubt it, though."

Daisy looked glumly at her father's broad back, noting how he went back to the water-filled basin and splashed some of the water into his face. Something about watching the stray droplets splash to the ground while he wouldn't even bother to face her made her snap, "Being king isn't about being right all the time."

"And being a princess isn't about getting your way!" Antonio retorted, crossing his arms as he turned to look at her. "You've never understood that, Daisy, and I'm beginning to think you never will. At first I thought that it was a phase you'd grow out of. But as you've said, you're an adult now, and still you've learned nothing. It's the reason you don't deserve your title anymore."

Daisy was quiet for a moment, struggling not to show how much those words stung. Her buried insecurities were like scars from old wounds that her father had callously bared for all to see and then reopened.

"Antonio, that's enough," Sophie reprimanded sharply. "We've all been through a lot, and said things we didn't mean…"

_Ever the peacemaker, aren't you, Mom?_ Daisy appreciated her mother's constant diplomacy, but it occurred to her that since all she and her father did was fight, all that Sophie ever got to do was play the referee. It couldn't be pleasant, having literally every moment shared with her family involve the other members fighting like rabid dogs, over—

Over nothing, mostly, Daisy realized. She remembered nonstop squabbles and bickering, but she could recall very few fights over serious matters. Her personality had been argumentative and stubborn, and so had her father's. They had spent so much time trying to best each other, and perhaps that was reflected in the state of their province. Daisy looked around the small, dark room with new eyes. Surely an elderly man with such a gift as healing people should be able to afford better than a makeshift space like this in which to practice medicine. And even Luigi, poor Luigi who had been just as much a part of saving Princess Peach the first time as Mario had been—though no one seemed to remember his involvement; even he struggled to survive in the main city of her province.

There were so many poor here, in this place which by rights should be the most economically-sound of her jurisdiction. Daisy bowed her head as she quietly considered the part she had to play in all this. If things had gotten so bad in this part of town, the criminal activity was hardly surprising, and so in a way, she was responsible for the actions of the woman in blue, and perhaps the Scorchers had had legitimate complaints when they captured her and tried to hold her for ransom…

She shook her head. It was all too overwhelming to think about.

What mattered now is that she had to learn from her past error and consider the big picture. Right now, there were much bigger concerns than winning a verbal sparring match with her father.

"You're right," she said quietly, tearing her gaze from the ground—where part of her really wanted to keep it—and looking up at her father.

The king opened his mouth, expecting to combat an argument, but shut it in shock. He blinked a few times before his expression turned sullen again. "I'm _right_," he repeated doubtfully, silently daring her to name the catch.

Daisy nodded. "Right." She fell silent for a second, shifting awkwardly. This concession that he was right, and by extension, she was wrong, felt contrary to her nature. But she mustered a gentle smile and continued, "But if you let me, maybe I can earn it back."

"_Let_ you? What happened to being too old to need my permission, Daisy?" Antonio was still incensed, but there was a note of genuine curiosity in his voice now rather than utter scorn.

Which, Daisy thought with some satisfaction, was most definitely a start.

"If you'd stop being such a grouch for a minute, maybe you'd realize that, in a completely…unprecedented turn of events—" Sophie raised an eyebrow and glanced at her daughter. "Daisy's extending a peace offering."

"Hmph." Antonio was still not swayed. Making his way to the door, he faced neither his wife nor daughter as he remarked, "Woman, by now I would think you'd know better than to get in the middle of our fights."

Sophie and Daisy watched as he opened the door and, without waiting for anyone's response, stepped out into the main room.

_So now that I've stopped challenging him, he goes straight for Mom._ Daisy sighed and shook her head. _Typical._

Sophie threw her hands up. "Someone remind me again why I married that man."

Toad, who had been a quiet observer up to this point, cleared his throat and rumbled, "That's a good question, Your Highness."

Daisy and Sophie looked around at the bashful guard, who was averting his eyes now as if worried that he had overstepped his boundaries. The sight of the physical powerhouse whose head almost touched the ceiling, standing with his hands behind his back like an apprehensive child expecting a scolding, made both the princess and the queen burst out with laughter.

"Huh?" Toad looked up in surprise, his eyes darting from one woman to the other. "Are you two…okay?"

"Yes," Sophie said, regaining her composure though her eyes still sparkled with mirth. "Let's go. Someone has to make sure that jerk doesn't get himself into any more trouble."

"Right." Daisy nodded and followed her mother out of the room. She heard Toad's plodding footsteps behind her, following them loyally without further questions, despite how perplexed he must be. She had never felt so lucky.

Just as she entered the main room, she caught sight of Polari shuffling back with a pen clutched in one gnarly hand and a thin slip of paper in the other.

"Ah, Princess." Polari eyed the king's scowl nervously and quickly made his way to Daisy. "Will this do? I'm sorry I'm running low on paper, but I found this old receipt. You can write on the back of it."

Daisy took the offered pen and paper. "This'll be fine." She scribbled the necessary information on the receipt and handed it back, inwardly shaking off the discomfort the old man brought her. "You know where the Royal Treasury is located, right? I've written the amount we owe you down there and signed it. Show this to the people down at the Treasury, and they will be more than happy to compensate you."

Polari squinted at the printed numbers and yelped aloud. He clapped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed, but he really couldn't have helped it. "All that, for me? Are you—are you sure you didn't write too many zeroes?"

Daisy smiled. "Maybe you can use that to increase the size of your medical facility. The people of Arrow City need any form of hope they can get." Her eyes drifted over the damage in the room, stopping to rest on the Dragons depicted on Polari's walls. "I know we haven't been doing our job to the province as well as we should've. But it's time to change that."

"Daisy—" Antonio began.

"Let's go." Daisy turned decisively away from the paintings and headed toward the front door. Throwing an additional thanks to Polari over her shoulder, she left the healer's cramped house. She didn't have to glance behind to know that her family was right behind her.

Walking down the street in a decidedly less-frantic state than before was an entirely different experience. For one thing, Daisy noticed the people swarming around her, the way some would stop and stare, though never overtly. Despite the late hour, there were still plenty of cars zooming past on the road, the cacophony of horns expressing the ill temper and impatience of many of the drivers.

Daisy frowned. How could they have let things get this bad?

"Daisy," Sophie said, jolting her out of her thoughts, "I'm glad about your decision to come back. But I have to know, did those Marios do something to discourage you? I hate to say it, but those two are nothing but troublemakers."

Daisy blinked. Had Sophie so soon forgotten their involvement in saving her life? Still, she mulled over the question. "Troublemakers, huh?" She reflected on Mario and Luigi's extreme stunt and her cheeks flushed with the revisiting of the emotions that had swirled through her when she had believed that Mario had died, and at Luigi's hands no less. She looked thoughtfully towards the west at the slowly sinking sun. "That may be, but…even so…"

She couldn't put her thoughts into words. And maybe that was best, she thought as she touched her cheek gently, slightly surprised to feel it still burning.

It was all right, for now, not to know exactly how she felt about the Marios. After all, they were not easily pegged down themselves. All she knew was that, surprising herself, she agreed with her mother's assessment of the brothers as troublemakers, but there was so much more to them than that. She would not soon forget Mario's face when Luigi had been poisoned, or Luigi's when Mario had lain in a pool of his own blood. And the both of them—such determination they had to keep fighting. It was like the two of them had literally pulled themselves from death so as not to abandon the other.

She yanked herself from her thoughts and changed the subject. "Toad, how do you feel about taking on a student for self-defense training?"

Toad started. "Well, I've never taught before, but if this is your way of giving an assignment, I could give it a try. Who do you have in mind?"

Daisy turned to face him with a huge grin. "None other than yours truly, of course!"

Antonio scoffed. "You plan on learning the advanced techniques that Toad was trained in? Better not waste his time and yours."

Daisy rolled her eyes. That was laughable coming from the king who had always had a bunch of guards to do all the hard work for him. Despite her father's impressive musculature, Daisy had never so much as seen Antonio lift a finger in the way of fighting. On the other hand, she had witnessed Toad and the other guards constantly sparring in the courtyards when they were off duty, in a quest to become even stronger.

"Well, what do you think, Toad?" she asked pointedly.

An earsplitting roar interrupted them, and they all turned as if one to face the noise. Daisy gritted her teeth; that racket was ripping right through her, reverberating in her chest with a most unpleasant thrum.

Her senses were only able to catch up that far before her mind shut down, frozen with fear. Memories of a time long past came flooding back, memories long repressed now surging to the surface. She remembered a time when she only reached Toad's knee rather than his waist. A night when she had been alone, following a magnificent winged creature, a night when she had been in awe that another living creature was restless at the late hour.

It had been the first owl she'd ever seen. And then the blackness had exploded into this dazzling orange light, and this mysterious, graceful bird, who defied the nature of the rest of its species, had fallen to the ground, bereft of feathers, its once-powerful body shriveled and blackened.

The princess had screamed and stumbled back from the burnt bird, placing her hands out in a desperate effort to stop the fire from consuming her too. But it was too late; there was fire at her back and to both of her sides. One move, and she would follow the bird to its unfortunate fate.

She choked on the tears coursing through her face. "P-please," she coughed. She could barely see anything except the fire, and the light glinting off of the owl's glassy eye, virtually the only part of it that was recognizable. Horrified, she wanted nothing more than to scoot away from the corpse, but the heat against her back warned her against such a movement.

"Please," she begged again, catching sight of white teeth in a wide grin.

"Now what do we have here, so far away from the safety of the palace?" a raspy voice asked. The glee was evident in his seemingly disembodied smile. "Little girl, didn't anyone tell you not to wander the woods at night? You might run into some…unsavory fellows."

His raucous laughter was joined by the three others who were somehow holding fire at all of her sides.

She trembled, aware of how far away the guards were, furiously wanting her mother and father. She regretted the fight she'd had with her father earlier; oh, she'd be better at remembering her lessons, and she'd never argue the uselessness of sums and spelling again, if only someone would save her from these terrifying men.

"Listen real close and I won't have to push that pretty face into these flames." The raspy voice was back, and the tone now was not playful as it had been before. He sounded deadly serious. Daisy straightened up, knowing above all else that her best bet for survival was perfect obedience.

"Good…" said Rasp. "Now, Princess, don't you even think about screaming if you want to keep your vocal cords. And come with us…"

In present time, Daisy jerked to attention and stared at the motorcycles full on. She would recognize those rumbling engines anywhere, the precise wheels cutting through the asphalt.

"Scorchers," she stated flatly, her hands tightening into fists.

The motorcycles weaved in and out of incoming traffic without a care for the angry shouts that were directed their way. Though the visors of their helmets concealed the upper half of their faces, Daisy knew it was them. She remembered feeling as if she'd left her stomach behind when they'd blindfolded her and sat her on the hard seat of the motorcycle, right in front of the man who at the time she'd known only as Rasp. He'd held her against his loathsome body, and she had had no choice but to hang on to him tight for dear life. He was leaning so far forward that she could smell his breath, which reeked of wood smoke.

These men on motorcycles sped with the same dangerous recklessness, turning with the same lurches that the Scorchers had. And to top it off, there was that wild grin stretching across one man's face, the exhilarated look of Rasp—or, as she knew him now, Arthur Goomba—zeroing in on his prey.

She wasn't about to be prey again.

"The Scorchers?" Toad shot Daisy a swift, serious glance. "Are you sure that's them?"

Daisy scowled, and snapped at Toad, "How can you even ask me that? Of course I'm sure."

It was especially telling that the throng around them seemed to immediately dissipate. People left and right were ducking into houses, darting down backroads, hopping fences, and even cutting into alleys. So much for solidarity of the people.

Antonio immediately placed himself in front of the women. "If that's so, then you two need to get out of here as fast as you can. Leave this to Toad and me."

Daisy tried and failed to stop her body from shaking. Her patience with her father's _arrogance_ and _chauvinism_ had just about been drained. These men—these foul, disgusting creatures—had taken her freedom away, made her live in squalor, filth, and fear, like an animal. And she _would not_ be that weak and defenseless again. _Never._ She would make them pay.

"Toad," she said, doing her best to mimic the battle-ready stance he had settled into, "how do you feel about teaching me during some hands-on experience?"

Toad stared at her. "Princess, with all due respect…are you crazy?"

"Absolutely not!" Antonio growled.

"No time to argue," Daisy replied tersely. "They're here."

It was true. The men screeched to a stop in front of the tense group. The sidewalk was conveniently cleared by now, and even the swollen traffic had somehow slowed, with only an occasional car going past just as fast as it could.

Five men in total, dressed similarly in black jackets, jeans, and, as they revealed when they tossed their helmets aside, sunglasses, surrounded them. Despite her intense anger, Daisy felt herself faltering as she stared into the glassy, impersonal, tinted shades on the tall man in front of her. She swallowed, aware of every bead of sweat crawling down her face.

Antonio raised an eyebrow. "Boys, if you know what's good for you, you'd move right along. Do you even _know_ who we are?"

"Yeah," rasped Goomba, the man who had stopped in front of Antonio. Daisy glared, but she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact, not when he was this close. "We know who you are, all right. The official leaders of this dung hill you like to call a city." Goomba spat in disgust. "And we're the unofficial leaders. Got an anonymous tip that you delicate birds strayed too far from the nest."

Daisy gritted her teeth. _Birds._ If that wasn't a direct reference to _that_ night, she didn't know what was.

"You're in our territory now," Goomba said, drawing a large weapon from his hip and leveling it. The others followed suit, hoisting similar guns and pointing it at the royal family and its one remaining guard.

A gun was held so close to Daisy's face that she could see down the barrel. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her limbs seemed to have locked into place.

_This is just what happened in Mario's loyalty test._ Daisy's stomach twisted, disappointment in her own weakness building. _I say I'm grown up. I say I'm strong enough to take care of myself. But every time I face a real crisis, I freeze._

Maybe it was fitting that she'd lost the circlet that marked her as a princess, and that her father had disowned her. She wasn't meant to rule anything. She couldn't even look danger in the face. All she could do was stand there helplessly and hope to be rescued.

She hadn't changed at all since those years ago.

Goomba was speaking again. "You have one of two options, and I'm just going to warn you now—it makes no difference to me which one you choose. You're worth something to me dead _or_ alive. Now, Option A—you come quietly, no fuss, and no one gets hurt. Option B—" He paused, and Daisy was sure he was baring his teeth in a wide, sadistic grin. "You find out firsthand why we're called the Scorchers."

Antonio met Goomba's gaze as best he could, unimpressed. Then he smirked. "How about Option C?" His expression turned serious and he settled into a fighting stance of his own. "I make you pay for taking my daughter those years ago."

That was enough to jerk Daisy's head around. She stared at the unmistakable fierce intent in Antonio's eyes, the confidence in which he held himself, the way he looked at the gun without a single trace of fear. _His…daughter?_

She turned back around and got back into her inexperienced fighting position, fixing the man in front of her with a challenging glower. If she was Antonio's daughter again, the least she could do was act like it.

"Wait," Toad interrupted, stopping Antonio's offensive forward lunge with one hand. "Your Majesty, it's my job to protect you and your family now." He raised his head and faced Goomba head-on. "You should know this. I was trained since I was very small to combat anything that could harm my charges. But, I was also taught that situations should be defused before they get the chance to escalate into violence if possible."

"_Toad!_ Don't be a coward," Antonio snarled. "They've picked a fight, so let me end it." He struggled against Toad's restraining hand, but the guard wouldn't budge.

"So I'm giving you one more chance to leave peacefully. If you do, all charges against you for the abduction of Princess Daisy Sarasa will be dropped," Toad said.

"_What?_" gasped Sophie.

"You have no right…" Antonio began.

"No thanks," Goomba interrupted. Everyone looked at him as he continued, grinning, "Your sorry police force never caught me anyway. Not to mention you don't have those convenient Mario brats around to save you anymore. How did it feel, 'trained guard,' to know that those snot-nosed kids were the ones to find the princess, when she never would have fallen into our hands in the first place if you'd really been doing your job?"

Toad's eyes widened. In a flash, he'd launched himself at Goomba. "Why, you—!"

Daisy smiled to herself, imagining how rearranged Goomba's face would be after Toad had taken a couple of swings at it. Then she frowned, noticing that Goomba didn't look at all disturbed by this hulking mass of a man flying toward him. He made no move to get out of the way. He even snickered a little. And that's when she noticed, in the split-second before Toad reached Goomba, how Goomba hefted the large gun as if it was weightless and had it pumped and ready to strike at point-blank range.

"Toad, look out!" Daisy cried out in warning. But she already knew it was too late. With Toad's velocity, there was no way he could veer out of the way in time.

Flames shot out of Goomba's weapon, twisting and undulating as if they had lives of their own. Daisy had time to process the orange glow illuminating Goomba's maniacal smile and the searing heat that she could feel from where she stood, safely away from Goomba's flamethrower.

The next moment, instead of a thoroughly charred Toad on the ground, Daisy was surprised to see that something—or rather, some_one_—had moved fast enough to knock Toad aside and prevent him from getting hit by the incendiary blast.

"_Mom?_" Daisy almost wanted to rub her eyes. Was she dreaming? Her slight mother had pushed Toad out of the way?

"Your reflexes might be fast," Sophie said, smiling in Goomba's perplexed face. "But mine are faster."

Without warning, Goomba fired another spurt of fire, this time aimed straight at Sophie. She easily sprang onto her hands and launched herself above the stream of fire, landing with her legs tightly wound around Goomba's neck.

Seeing their leader in unprecedented trouble, the other men all activated their flamethrowers, but this time, everyone was prepared to dodge. Toad rolled out of the way of the blast targeted at him and sprang to his feet. Without wasting a moment, he barreled toward one of the men. He was a large target and he knew it, but his size was a major advantage when it came to weapons like these. Just as he expected, the man underestimated his ability to change direction at a second's notice, and so he waited until Toad was almost upon him before trying to shoot.

Bad move. Toad leapt to the right, and slammed his fist down and to the left, colliding with the man's unprotected head. With the man stunned from the blow, Toad was able to take the flamethrower from unresisting hands and quickly disable the lighter fluid cylinder. He threw the now useless empty shell on the ground and plunged toward the next enemy.

Daisy was doing her best just not to get burnt. The man attacking her was unrelenting with his flamethrower, and Daisy found herself having to duck and twist to stay alive. Now, this was ironic. Hadn't she just survived a fire? Maybe this element had it out for her.

She could tell that the man was amused. He was toying with her. Why wasn't he going all out? She huffed, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from her forehead and narrowly avoiding a jab aimed toward her elbow. Was he trying to tire her out? If so, he wouldn't have to wait too much longer.

She hopped backward and sucked in her stomach, and thankfully, this put her just outside the range of the flame. She didn't dare look behind her, keeping her eyes on the direction of the flamethrower's barrel, but she could hear the clash behind her, and she knew that everyone was holding their own in this fight except her. She really _didn't_ deserve to be part of the royal family.

She stumbled backward as the man slowly advanced and, to her dismay, she _tripped._ She didn't have time to scold herself, though, as her pursuer was taking advantage of the situation and running toward her, weapon extended. If she didn't think quickly, she was going to be toasted.

Reaching beneath her, she felt her fingers close over a cold, hard object. _What? It couldn't be…_ But it was! Someone must've been disarmed. She leveled the Scorchers' own weapon against one of the gang, and he hesitated.

But so did she.

Could she really do this? Burn a living, breathing man alive? Especially one of her own subjects?

The man grinned, seeming to read her indecision in her expression, and he shoved the barrel of his own weapon in her face.

Daisy squeezed her eyes shut, lowering her own gun but keeping a strong grip on it, trying, in a strange way, to siphon comfort from it.

But the searing heat never came. Instead there was a rough slamming sound, a grunt, and a clatter. Daisy opened one eye and then the other. She saw the man's weapon on the ground first, then the man himself, groaning, and finally, her father standing tall and proud. She had never been so happy to see him.

"Dad!" she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet and taking a step toward him.

"Daisy, what are you doing? You were armed and yet you almost let that man turn you into a barbecue!" Antonio barked harshly, stopping Daisy in her tracks.

"I…" Daisy was taken aback, but there was no time to say more anyway. The man was already back on his feet and making a beeline straight for his gun.

"Oh no you don't," Antonio muttered, ignoring Daisy and running after the man.

Toad had caught sight of the newly-disarmed man and Antonio's pursuit as well, and he aimed a swift, hard punch into his opponent's gut, causing him to double over. Using this to his advantage, Toad grabbed the man's head and swung him around as if he was a rag doll, sending him flying into Antonio's target.

The man Toad had thrown rammed into his comrade and they both flew backward. Antonio sidestepped them, and they crashed to the ground.

Daisy winced. She was sure she'd heard something crack, and despite everything, she couldn't stem her empathy.

Antonio didn't waste time diving for the abandoned flamethrower and pointing it at both disarmed men. Daisy watched, wide-eyed, unable to say anything, and unsure of what she even wanted to say. She saw the men trembling, sweating, one of them even soiling himself as was evident from the slight darkening of his jeans and the soaking of the earth around him.

_Not so different from me,_ Daisy thought sadly. She had no doubt in her mind that she had looked similarly pathetic when she was cornered. In fact, she was sure that she even would've wet herself as well if there was anything in her stomach for her to digest.

Immediately, she was flooded with disgust in herself. How could she even think about food at a time like this, when these two men were about to lose their lives, when she was about to witness her father become a murderer? And an even more disturbing thought plagued her. Why didn't she speak up and ask her father to spare them? She had always been so quick to argue with her father before, over such trivial and petty things, but now her tongue seemed frozen.

Was it possible that she _wanted_ the Scorchers to burn? But, no, she wasn't that type of person. She wasn't vindictive or vengeful. She was a cheery person who never, ever let anything faze her; at least in this small way, she had always been the princess she had been brought up to be.

But now…now in the most serious test of her life, _why wouldn't she say anything?_

Antonio spat on the ground next to the two terrified Scorchers. "Little boys shouldn't play with fire," he declared, scorn dripping from his voice. He turned the gun around so that the butt was facing the men and rammed it into first one's head and then the other's. They slumped, unconscious but alive.

Daisy felt her shoulders slump too. She met Antonio's eyes and he gave her a curt nod. She squared her shoulders and returned the gesture, tightening her grip on the flamethrower she held. She didn't have to use the weapon in the conventional—and more often than not, deadly—method. It would work just as well as a bludgeoning artifact to simply neutralize their enemies.

She felt a moment of uncertainty. What if she swung too hard and killed someone anyway? Blunt head wounds could kill just as surely as fire. But that uncertainty dissipated quickly as she considered her muscle mass. She probably _couldn't_ land a blow hard enough to kill.

She turned along with her father to see that Goomba was the only Scorcher left standing. He must have managed to throw Sophie off of him because she was acrobatically leaping, flipping, and spinning out of his way. It was actually comical how she managed to dodge all his punches and kicks as if she was performing a largely uninterrupted dance. With every attack he attempted and failed to land, his energy visibly drained, but Sophie didn't even appear to have broken a sweat.

What was presumably Goomba's flamethrower was in Toad's hands, and in a flash, it was rendered useless by the guard's adjustments.

Daisy and Antonio quickly made their way to the guard's side. Toad was crouched low to the ground to ensure maximum power when he launched himself at Goomba. He was just waiting for an opening.

"Listen, Toad," Antonio said, and plowed on before the big man could respond, "Sophie's got him right where she wants him. He's totally distracted. But she's only proficient at evasive maneuvers, so it's up to us to bring in the offense. We need to strike together, and hard."

"What do you think I plan on doing?" Toad growled, starting to move, but stopping himself immediately as Sophie changed direction and he was forced to reevaluate the situation in order to make sure no harm came to the queen.

"I said _we,_" Antonio insisted. "We have to do this together, Toad. I know you feel like you have to protect us, but we're not helpless."

_Except for me._ Daisy knew this was a horrible time to start feeling sorry for herself, but she couldn't help it. She cleared her throat, glancing nervously at her mother. Despite how effortless the queen's stunts seemed, she couldn't possibly keep them up forever. "What should I do?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Antonio retorted. "I said _we_ need to do this together. Honestly, between you and the guard, I'm starting to think our castle had some sort of hearing epidemic."

Daisy and Toad both stared at Antonio, quietly shocked, but Toad recovered quickly. Apparently having assessed the situation and decided that the way to do his job and ensure the queen's safety involved ending the argument by giving into Antonio, he told Daisy, "You wanted hands-on experience? You've got it. Settle low to the ground. Don't focus on how you look. Watch how your mother is leading our target and prepare to strike when it's most convenient for you, and when you're certain you won't knock him into her."

Toad's words came low and fast, and Daisy struggled to remember every bit of it. She squatted—and felt like she looked silly, and watched as Toad lunged forward and landed a solid chop to Goomba's hip. Antonio rushed to Goomba's other side a second later and simultaneously swung one fist into Goomba's nose and the other onto his chest.

And then there was the moment that almost seemed to happen in slow motion, when Goomba stumbled backward and Daisy knew beyond a doubt that this was _it._ Her opening. She pushed herself up from her squat, surprised at what impressive speed the extra propulsion gave her. She extended the flamethrower she held in front of her and, holding her breath, whacked Goomba right on the head with it.

Goomba stiffened, his spine straightening like a ruler, and then, after he seemed suspended for what felt like ages, he toppled to the ground.

There was absolutely no sound from anyone. The silence seemed bizarre after the loudness of the fight, and even more so because the streets of Arrow City were usually so congested that one could hardly hear oneself think.

Daisy broke the silence with a muttered "ow" as she dropped the flamethrower. The impact with Goomba's skull had reverberated through the weapon and translated itself into the hand carrying it, sending a lance of pain through Daisy's entire arm, a pain that she was now feeling the full brunt of now that adrenaline was wearing off.

Sophie immediately came to Daisy's side. "Are you okay?"

Daisy stared at Sophie, unable to reconcile her mother's normal behavior with the agile expert fighter she'd just witnessed in action. "Are you kidding, Mom? You were the one going one-on-one against the lead Scorcher! Most of the time, all I did was cower, and you're worried about _me?_"

"Well, you _did_ say 'ow,' sport," Toad said, breaking into a rare smile and tousling Daisy's hair. "You expect us not to be worried about you? You're crazy. You held your own there for a while too."

Daisy decided against revealing that she'd been barely restraining herself from turning tail and running away. "Well, if anything, this proves that I need to learn self-defense. Maybe I could learn from _all _of you!" she suggested. "You all seem to have different styles, but maybe I can incorporate all three into my own—"

"Getting ahead of yourself as usual, Daisy?" Antonio interrupted. "This fight hasn't changed anything. You still aren't worthy of being a princess, and you're more than unworthy of learning fighting techniques."

Daisy's anger flared immediately. "Wha—Are—are you kiddi—are you still _on_ about this?" She couldn't _believe_ this, and she almost choked on her fury. Her thoughts, a hazy red, would barely connect to each other. He just always had to do this, didn't he? He always had to take any small victory, any happiness she had, and crush it. "I thought we reached an understanding during the fight! You have to admit, we made a pretty good team." She spread her arms to indicate the felled Scorchers to illustrate her point.

Antonio didn't even bother looking. "In a fight, my mindset is different. I'll do whatever I need to do to reach my objective, even if that involves teaming up when I'd rather not. But the fight is over, so the truce is over too."

"I—" Daisy felt her face heating up. The _nerve!_ The absolute— "That's not fair!" she heard herself splutter.

"Tough." Antonio started walking away, hands in his pockets.

"Shouldn't we take them to the police station?" Toad questioned, jerking his thumb at Goomba.

"We don't have the time," Antonio said. "We have to clear out before word spreads and more Scorchers get here." He continued on his way, heedless of Toad standing stubbornly in place. Without turning, he said, "Come on. I'm not going to go back there and try to pull you along. We both know how useless that'd be."

"You're going to let them go free," Toad said disbelievingly. "You, the king of this place! You know, there's a reason all the people disappeared when the Scorchers showed up. We're not the only people the Scorchers have terrorized. They didn't get their name because they just _threatened_ people with those flamethrowers."

Antonio finally turned around. He looked Toad right in the eye. "It's impossible to rid the city of crime. Do you really think that taking five men to jail will solve all the problems in Arrow City? Don't be a fool. Every minute we spend arguing here is another minute other gang members might be heading this way." His glare softened suddenly, and then he actually smiled. "Besides, 'letting them go free' is relative. When I run into them again, and I will, I'll make them sorry they ever threatened us. And I'll be able to do more than I ever would've done if they were sitting in a jail cell."

This time when he turned around, everyone was quick to follow.


End file.
